#this is an excuse to write link with an accent

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 7)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦

Part 7 Recognition

It was time to start again. Alastor couldn't forget what his mother had wanted, even if she didn't ask it of him directly. And while he finds his comfort again in killing, Detective Brady finds a lead.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, smut, reader's thighs as ear muffs, referencing cruel racists in the early 20th century south, reference to marital violence, pussy eaten, p in v sex, no creampie BOO, bad dancing, Alastor's southern accent, Alastor's mother, gossip, murder, greed , two idiots pretending they aren't madly in love, poor family planning, lots of 1920's slang with notes for your ease」

I think I fixed the broken tag list!

....it's been over a month. Here's nearly 9000 words of our favorite idiots. I feel weird labeling this smut now as...we are...kinda past the smut point and just making sweet sweet love. lol ugh gross. thank you to everyone whose offered help, donated, and shared the word about my mom! It’s been an immense help and has made her a little emotional (in a good way) <Florida stole my moms teeth— explanation and donation link> unrelated, anyone want some RadioDust?

Minors…. Minors. My inbox counts as interacting when you’re literally in there requesting smut. I know your bio has no age but baby honey darling I can tell by your writing. 🔞 Do Not Interact 🏠🚗

A development he knew was coming even if no one else believed him. A drug addict with debts to the local crime syndicates disappearing was neither suspicious nor a mystery. Everyone was confident it was obvious Tommy was at the bottom of Lake Pontchartrain or halfway to California.

But not to him, not for Detective Brady. He had been on the beat for the better part of a year, convinced there was a connection between some of the disappearances in town.

No one wanted to hear it though, most people didn’t even care the people were missing. Only the occasional wife, concerned how she would keep a roof over her head and food in her kid’s bellies with the man of the house gone. But other than that, no tears or chest beating for the missing men and women.

Which made him confident there were countless more unreported cases. Just because no one missed them, a crime is a crime.

But, no bodies, no blood, no crime scenes… he looked like he had lost the fucking plot to his colleagues.

The city didn’t want the bad press, not to mention the fact there was no actual crime to be reported. Someone up and left down? Okay, he was a wife beater? Probably left with his mistress. The cruel den mother of the home for unwanted kids? Her assistant takes the lead and she moves onto a new town to menace. Probably running from the people angry with her.

But he finally had something. Tommy was pimping out dancers, and even laid hands on one. Surely there was a man looking for revenge for that. Can’t knock around a man’s woman and have it go unanswered.

So he tried again to find the woman whose only name he knew was a moniker. Autumn Hind.

Every time Brady came to the theater, another excuse. You left early. You were on the roof smoking—- oh, you slipped out the back. Weekends were your off days, so that was useless.

“You’re obsessed.” Detective Freeman threw an eraser he’d picked off his pencil at Brady. He had seen the man devolve slowly over the past couple months.

“Thanks.” Brady was staring at his notes.

“Not a compliment, Kenny. Shit happens, people leave town. You’re acting like a handful of no shows are some conspiracy.” Freeman came to stand behind Brady, leaning over to read his notes, “How can you even read that chicken scratch?”

He clapped the notebook shut, “Every report was a person less than liked. What are the chances they all leave town in the middle of the night, last seen in the same general area?”

Freeman patted his shoulder, “Did you just ask me why a bunch of assholes,” he stood up and made a show of stretching out tired muscles, “who liked illegal hooch* and jazz with plenty of enemies disappeared?” (*booze)

Brady slapped his desk, “There! You said it! They had enemies. But what— what if they had one enemy in common. A bar manager or — or a,” he was still looking for that link.

“Kenny, the boogeyman isn’t roaming New Orleans killing people. If the higher ups don’t care, if the families don’t care, it doesn’t matter. Let it go.”

The sleep deprived detective sunk into his wooden chair, swiveling side to side anxiously, “Tommy’s mother cares.”

“Yeah well mom’s are famously bad judges of character.” Slipping on his jacket, he shot a worried look to his partner, “Ya gonna go home? Janet’s probably a mess. You’ve been keeping late hours.”

“Nah not yet. I gotta get to the theater before this dame goes ghost on me again.”

“Yikes, still? You’ve been chasing her for a while.” He was making a slow inching walk to the door.

“It’d be easier if I had some support. I gotta do this on my own time.” A deep sigh, well past the point of hiding his frustration with his colleagues and bosses. Freeman looked over the wrinkled shirt and wilted tie, evidence of a man losing his grip.

“Welp, good luck buddy. Hope you get to the bottom of whatever this is.” He gestured at the messy desk and disheveled man, “See ya tomorrow.”

Brady waved without looking up. His eyes were staring into the black leather of his notepad. Tommy was the only recent assumed victim with any real suspicion. The woman whose husband disappeared after going to see a show? Only enemy to him was her, and she wasn’t strong enough to take him down. Deadend.

Most recent, nice young man from up north. Went out for a good time, hoping to catch a little lady for some stress relief, according to his coworkers. Never showed up at work the next day. No one had a bad word to say about the man. Making him an outlier, but still. He was young, strong, soft spoken. Not an enemy in sight but no family to worry, either. Deadend.

But Tommy. Someone cared he was gone. He was in the jazz game, the drug dens, the illegal drink business, and had a heavy hand. He was the perfect bad man, right?

He looked across his desk. Bad men. The occasional unsavory woman. Maybe it was just their time. They pissed off the wrong people.

Or the wrong person.

Someone who worked downtown, someone into dance and drink, someone with nights free to do his work. Maybe a hired gun? No, some of these people didn’t have the money for that.

Plus, one person and so many missing? That would be unheard of, it’d be some kind of record for Louisiana.

A record Brady could claim.

When he entered the theater James, the manager who replaced Tommy, noticeably rolled his eyes, getting in front of the man. “It’s real bad for business to have a cop in here all the damn time. Come on, if you’re not here for a raid then could you be a little less obvious.”

Brady looked past him, “What do you mean?”

“You’re— what is it? What can I do for you?”

“Here again for Miss Autumn. Care to give her real name yet?”

“No can do. Ain’t my business to tell. She’s finished her set, asked to head home early.” Brady turned and kicked a chair over, a large man approaching behind the manager before seeing the hip badge and backing up. “Nah we’re not doing that. We’ve told her you’ve come by but she’s a busy lady. Several gigs here and there. Enough, you’re harassing the dancers now.”

With a snap, Brady had his finger in the manager’s face, “Whatcha gonna do? Call the cops?”

“She. Isn’t. Here. What the fuck do you want? For me to tie her up and bring her to your station?”

That’d be ideal.

A month, nearly. Coming once or twice a week to try and speak to you but every time he missed you. He was going to snap if he heard one more time you were gone. Maybe everyone was in on it. Maybe you werenin the back right now laughing at him.

Brady scanned the room, “Where’s she live?”

“How the fuck would I know— please, leave.” James gestured to the doors.

He lifted his badge up, waving it at the patrons seated closest to him, “Yall know it’s still illegal to partake-,”

“Jesus! Enough!” The manager pushed him back, flashing an apologetic smile to the guests, “She moonlights Sundays at The Dime near the park on 5th, singing for a friend. That’s all I got about her life off stage. Will you fucking go?”

The detective perked up, “See, was that so hard?”

Finally, he could feel his fingers grasp the shifting shadow that was his only lead.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“I never said sorry.”

You turned your head, not expecting him to say something serious. Waiting, he didn’t add explanation. Sorry? What had he done… ran out of milk? Forgot to bring in the towels before it rained last week? A quick search of your memory yielded nothing.

“For what?”

He was staring off in front of him. “For putting you in danger before. In the park. I am sincerely sorry.”

You’d somehow almost forgotten. It’d been weeks. Every bad feeling that night had brought you had been carried away by good morning kisses and gentle words before sleep. Nearly every night was spent in his bed, Alastor dropping you off at your apartment when he went downtown for work. The incident in the park was a different lifetime already.

Had he really put you in danger? Or had you rushed into the danger of his hobby to feel closer to him?

“I put myself in that situation. You didn't throw me at that guy. I don’t do a damn thing I don’t want to do. You should have learned that by now.”

Tough act for a woman who jumped up to pour some man’s coffee.

You shook your head, you had to stop equating doting on Alastor as a show of weakness. It wasn’t. Even if admitting that meant admitting you were wrong.

But he had put you in danger’s way, he knew it. “No, you wouldn’t have ever been in that situation if it wasn’t for me.”

Your laughter bounced off the car windows, “Alastor, you met me getting choked to death by a strange man. People will always make dangerous situations for women to be in. Don’t act like you’re special.” A sly smile to ease his anxious heart. “I’d rather be in danger for you than just because I’m a woman. If it’s gonna happen anyway, might as well be worth something.”

His hand slipped onto your thigh, expression softening before his own smile grew again, “Don’t lie to my face so easily. I am very special, we can all agree.”

You looked around, the two of you alone in his car on a side street, “All? You know the trunk is still empty, right?”

“Oh, is that so? You’re quite dangerous yourself, I nearly forgot why we were here.” He patted his pockets to make sure he had what he needed. “When I give you a wave, back up to me, okay? Don’t leave the car. Just drive off if-,”

You kissed his cheek, “Shut it. Not a chance. Go give em hell, baby.”

Alastor crumpled against his steering wheel momentarily, your words cutting his heart open in a most wonderful way. He could never have predicted getting kisses before beginning his dark work. What had he done to deserve this? Perhaps proof someone in hell was in full support of his actions. Straightening his back and checking his hair and glasses in the mirror, he flashed you a smile before slipping out of the car.

When Alastor said he was ready to begin killing again, you were a mix of excited and scared. Excited for normalcy to return but scared of the dangers presented there in. You’d been dodging the blue eyed detective for a while already, and moving forward meant possibly making mistakes he could grab a hold of. Not mentioning the risk of someone hurting Alastor again…but for your part in everything, you and Alastor found a compromise.

A deal had been made. You’d stay in the car and bring it to him when he was done. He had asked you flee if something went wrong but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Crawling into the driver’s seat, you tried to remember what he had taught you. How to get it started up, how to make it go backwards. How to make it go, in general. You’d never driven a car. Well, not until Alastor insisted on teaching you. Driving up and down the long stretch of road he lived on, Alastor white knuckling the door handle as you jerked the car forward with every failed shift. You had started on his land, but he feared for his home's safety with you behind the wheel.

Your hands slipped down the steeling wheel, big and round. Your mother would’ve had a hoot had she seen you in the driver’s seat. Clearing your throat, you leaned into the back of the car and double checked the canvas was properly secured.

Another man tonight. The few times you’d both gone out for leisure, having preferred to spend time alone at home, Alastor had gotten gossip that piqued his interest.

You remembered the way the woman’s hand touched his arm when she leaned in. “You didn’t hear it from me but it’s best to avoid French Study on Thursdays. Real piece of work slipping something in drinks and robbing people.” He reported what she had said back to you. It’d panicked you, realizing you were closer to being on Alastor’s list than you’d realized.

“No, the issue isn’t the stealin’. It’s what he does with the people with,” he had been delicate as he said it, taking another long sip of whiskey, “other things of value. And the fact this man has no need to steal. It’s ridiculous! His family has been land ownin’ and well off for generations.” Alastor was always impassioned when discussing the things he hated, even when slipping into drunkenness. His accent came through when he had too much to drink, his real accent. The accent his mother had. “You robbed men for power balance, for their assumptions you were easy to manipulate to begin with. He? Uh, Him? He’s just a piece of shit. He thinks he’s better than everyone else. And no one would report him ‘cause his family name.”

His drink spilled a little, when you had offered to clean it he just slipped the button up off. He lost his usual classy air as the bottle emptied. Which you actually liked.

The benefits of drinking on his back porch was no need to worry about decorum. Music was softly spilling from the open window behind you, Alastor’s prized record cabinet spinning the newest presses.

“It’s like there’s a little bug under my skin,” he wiggled his fingers over his sternum, “It’s gonna dig into my bones if I don’t cut it out.”

Despite your own drunkenness, you nodded and followed along, “So, ya gonna kill ‘em?”

Alastor pouted, making you snort, “I don’t want to think about that right now.” He enunciated every word clearly in his practiced and professional voice.

You’d ended the evening playfully arguing the merits of prohibition on the jazz scene and watching Alastor dance around the wrap around porch. But the conversation hadn’t ended for him.

Little hints he was still focused on it popped up over the following week. Alastor randomly asking you how it felt to be drugged, did you wake up in pain? Embarrassed? Scared? You caught him staring at the greenhouse from the window one morning, lost in thought. Before he had finally said he wanted to go out again, you understanding what that meant, you’d seen him turning a dinner knife over and over in his hand impatiently.

And now here you were. In the car beside a park late Thursday, Alastor having done some scouting while you’d finished up early at the theater.

It took hours. Which was good, it meant Alastor wasn’t rushing. He liked the stalking aspect of killing, of watching someone from across a room knowing exactly how their night would end. And as that man whose name would soon be buried with him alternated smiling and barking orders at staff, Alastor felt his stomach flutter. Like watching a slab of meat slowly turn over the fire. The crueler he was, the worse he acted, the more Alastor found his fingers tapping on the bar with anticipation. Perfect. Damn yourself more. No fake smiles or double faces, no, people like him didn’t even try to play the game others were forced into. Born with money and land already theirs, they didn’t even know the rules.

But Alastor did. Alastor mastered them at the tender age of 14. When he realized his father’s features were a shield. His mother’s lessons on manners and charm his weapons. The first time he was in mixed company, when someone leaned in and whispered a cruel “prank” he had planned for a young dark skinned woman on the other side of the room, he understood. They pulled back and smiled at him, and he managed to muster one of his own. Just smile, they’d take it to mean whatever they wanted it to mean because they thought he was of the same mindset. They assumed it. Like so many other things people would assume about him as he grew.

When he told his mother the story after getting home, she shook her head. When he had asked her what he should have done, she set down her book.

“Well, I’d love to say you should have stood up for her. But I’d also like to have my son above ground.”

He asked her why she couldn’t have both.

“Sweetheart, we don’t usually get the choice to do either, let alone both.”

He offered a solution, after a moment of thinking, “I shoulda buried him first then.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if that was how the world worked?” She returned to her book, “If God just struck em down dead as soon as they hurt people. Better yet, before.”

It would be nice. It was nice. Because Alastor couldn’t wait for God to make the world his mother mentioned. He grinned ear to ear, gloves a second skin, as the man crawled backwards in the grass like an animal cornered. His heart was pounding in his ears. Where to cut first? The gut, his family fat and soft from the money they made off the labor of others? The pale neck of a man who never spent a day outside, instead indoors drugging strangers for sport? The chest covered in a fine cotton shirt he didn’t appreciate?

He wished he had many arms, as many as he could imagine, to slash and tear in tandem.

“What do you want? Money?” the animal asked him.

Alastor shook his head no. No, he didn’t want money.

“Do you know who I am?”

Alastor nodded. “That is precisely why I am here.”

Would he beg? Cry? Bargain? Experience told him it’d be the latter.

“Alright well, if you know who I am you know you’re making a mistake. Here.” The man opened his wallet and pulled out a few greenbacks, holding them out for Alastor. Alastor’s smile softened slightly, remembering tossing you a wallet once before.

He reached down with his left hand to take the money, but instead grabbed the man’s wrist. Swiftly, quicker than the man could process, he took the knife tucked into his belt behind his vest and stabbed the man in the stomach.

Staring into his eyes, he could see his own image looking back at him. Smiling.

Alastor grabbed your face with both wrists, hands bloody and one still holding the knife, and kissed you when he’d flagged you down.

“Is this for bringing the car around without running you over?” Your eyes glanced at the knife beside your head. He apologized, tossing it into the trunk.

“No, just happy to see you.” A mischievous grin that made your knees weak, his body shimmied closer until he was pressed against you, stealing another kiss. His arms stretched out to keep from bloodying you. Your fingers slid up his cheeks to return the kiss. “Thank you, dear.”

When you returned home, to his home, that is, you took to task bringing in the laundry he’d left on the line and putting away the things still on the counters from breakfast. You couldn’t resist going to the second floor room and looking down into the greenhouse. You couldn’t see perfectly well, but you could see nonetheless. Alastor didn’t want you in the greenhouse yet when he was working. He said it was the ugliest parts, the kind that would sure give you nightmares or rob you of your appetite.

Considerate. But, it only made you more curious. Would you be sick if you saw? Would you never eat meat again?

What would you do if you didn’t have any reaction at all?

You watched Alastor leave the greenhouse and lock the door behind him, so you hopped down the stairs to meet him in the hall beside the kitchen.

He’d been sweating, shirt open to reveal a thin white undershirt, and under his arm was a canvas roll. He lifted it up, “Tools. Rinsed them off but I’d like to dry them under the electric lights.” You grabbed the aprons from the wall hooks, Alastor letting you slip it over his head and tie it for him. “Why so tight?”

“I like the way it makes your waist look.” You’d seen him wear it when making biscuits. It made his shape so clear. It reminded you of watching water drip down his sides and roll off his hips in the shower.

He beamed, “I’m listening. What exactly do you like about my waist?” Sharp brows raised as that friendly tongue peeked out at you.

“Hush.” You cooed.

You stood on the long side of the table, him at the short, and took turns wiping the tools dry and checking the other’s work.

As he grabbed each one he would tell you what he used it for. Holding up the garden shears and explaining the point along the blade that had the strongest force. The advantage of curved pruning blades when used on a human body. His eyes were gleaming as he spoke, looking so lovingly at each item like it was a loyal pet.

He finally noticed you were grinning and chuckling softly, so he dropped his smile for dramatic effect, “What? What’s so funny?”

Shaking your head, you set down the next item for him to inspect, “Nothing. You’re just so cute when you’re talking about your passions. Your face lights up from the inside out.”

His breath hitched, smile actually lost as he processed every syllable. Your turn now to notice him staring as you looked up from your work. You recognized that look though, the wide eyes and serious lips. The air of the kitchen felt like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm rolled in.

Alastor set the tools back onto the canvas one by one and carried them to the counter. Before returning he picked up a small knife and set it near the edge of the table.

“Come here.” He nodded his head to space in front of him. The way he said it, that tone, made your heart begin to skip beats.

You slid between him and the table, Alastor lifting you up with a startling ease and setting you onto cool wood. Kicking your legs a little, you set nervous hands onto your lap. You wanted to touch him. To pull him by the apron straps into you.

“How do you always say the right things?” He closed the distance between you, one hand on your neck while his mouth came to your ear. “The things I didn’t know I wanted to hear?”

Swimming. Your mind was swimming. “Why is your idea of right the same as my idea of the truth?” You could feel the grin. Sighing into your ear, down your neck, his hands grabbed your hips and pulled you off the table enough to press your core into his clothed erection. Even through his pants and the apron, you could feel him clearly. When did he get so hard? You always wondered in those moments if it was the topic of discussion. Or the knives. Or your need. Biting your lip wasn’t a thought out action, but Alastor loved to see it. Rolling his hips into you in response.

“Wanna go upstairs?” you asked.

He shook his head, slipping off his glasses.

“Oh no, don’t even wanna see me?” You teased, but firm hands held you tighter to him in response.

“I won’t be letting you get far enough away from me for that to be a problem.”

When he leaned down and his lips so very gently pressed into yours, you could feel it. That missing something from before. It was in the air, it was rolling off of his body and dampening your senses. A desire, a drive that you felt that first time you had sex with him in that apartment above the theater. A motivation that was lacking last time in his bed.

His eyes were staring down into yours, waiting for your response. Eagerly you replied by chasing his mouth with yours. A chain of kisses as you tried to ever remember enjoying kissing another person as much as him.

Not a single soul. Why did it feel like this was all you ever needed? Eyes closed and lips on lips, hands in his hair, it felt like you’d been holding your breath all of your life. His body on yours was a gasp of air.

For Alastor, he couldn’t even think of breathing when around you. Let alone when your mouth was on him. Every time you touched him all he could think about was the word ‘affection’.

So when your tongue swiped up his lips, he moaned as he opened for you. Not because he was new to kissing someone with so much lust. He’d grown accustomed to the things you did to him. No, because you were a fever that had taken hold of him and your kiss the medicine that soothed his delirium.

He wondered, was that why people called it ‘love sick’?

“You really like me, don’t you?” He asked, nose sliding up your jaw.

An opportunity presented to you. A chance to spill over the edges.

You pushed it away, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer.

“Something like that, yeah.”

His hands pressed flat against the table to balance the deep roll of his hips against you. One of your own fell behind you to keep from falling backwards, the other flung over his shoulder. When you moaned into his cheek he captured the sound with his mouth and slipped his tongue back into you.

You liked him. He’d known people to love and not like their partner an ounce, but the way you appreciated his quirks made his heart sing in its brittle cage. You never ceased to see him. The issue with always putting on a show is people tend to be disappointed when the actors become human again. But you never met his persona. He was knife wielding, bloodlusting Alastor from the first word. So when he was himself, you recognized him clearly. Because he was all you ever knew.

And you liked him

You appreciated him.

He dared to think maybe he could inspire more from you. A thought that made him twitch below the belt.

Closer. He needed you closer. He needed you so near to him that he’d never forget the feeling of being wanted. It’d be imprinted on his chest and his arms and his lips.

Impatient hands slipping up your sides, along your neck, down your chest. His greedy mouth suddenly understanding the same greed he once marveled at in your own kisses. Hot tongue sliding over yours, delving deeper into you with every return.

When his hands seemed to come to an agreement, they yanked you forward again. You’d fall off ass-first if he pulled you any further.

You watched with only slight horror has he grabbed the small knife and hiked up your dress in tandem. A gulp, worried the other shoe had finally dropped on a too-good situation.

“Are you particularly attached to these panties?” His eyes were looking up and over his glasses.

“No?” Did you really need panties, you wondered. Ever? Girdles we’re falling out of fashion perhaps you’d all be naked again soon enough. Maybe you two could start another Eden. A pomegranate’s juice the new red staining his skin.

Not even a tremble, his hands lifted each side and sliced them free.

“Oh?” You didn’t have a real question in mind when he tucked the panties into his back pocket. Just a need to express you saw it and didn’t understand it.

Alastor took your hand and pressed it against his hardened length, eyes locked onto yours with a sharpness to them. But when your hand took hold of him and squeezed, everything softened in his features. Funny how where one area grew stiff another melted.

He rolled his eyes closed as you finally undid his belt and pants. A struggle you didn’t see, Alastor trying to keep from pouncing on you like a horny virgin. He didn’t want to rut into you, he didn’t need the pleasure. He needed something he couldn’t see or explain. He just knew you held it behind your teeth.

When your skin pressed into his and you both moaned together he was sure you were the same. One person, split into insufficient parts. Finally lined up flush in place.

When you circled your hips against his aching cock, he wondered what you were chasing after. Was it the pleasure? He’d give it to you in spades.

He was on his knees with his face between your legs before you could close your thighs in surprise.

You needed both hands now to keep from falling back onto the table. “Alastor,” a whine.

He knew better than to talk with his mouth full, so he let two fingers work their way into you with shallow thrusts. Easing you open for him.

“Yes?” His eyes didn’t leave his fingers, glistening under the kitchen light. You hadn't thought much ahead past his name, once his fingers were in you and curling up to find your spongy and soft bundle of nerves your mind had gone empty.

“We can just fuck, if you’re horny.” You watched him watching himself.

“Where’s the fun in that?” His mouth returned to your mound, broad tongue forming a point and finding your clit.

A lazy moving tongue would be frustrating if not for his fingers punishing your g-spot. Consistency was key, and his hand was focused and skilled.

Suddenly you remembered the piano in the sitting room. That’s where you knew that movement from. That clearly practiced muscle memory.

Alastor felt confident everywhere but rarely did he feel comfortable. When your thighs came together and squeezed him at the ears, he felt positively cozy. Would you be so kind as to be his ear muffs come winter? He’d have to remember to ask when his mouth was free. How many cold nights he could now rest assured he would have warmth just a little dive of his head away.

Lowering his mouth, nose buried in your muff, he wriggled his tongue in with his fingers. Not enough, rarely was anything enough any more. He stilled his hand and prodded at your sensitive walls with that intrusive tongue, relishing the little movements you made in response. Taking his digits out entirely, he buried his wet muscle as deeply as he could reach.

The huffs of exhales you were making triggered a moan from him that you felt through your skin. His enjoyment was tripling your pleasure.

Goosebumps ran up your arms at the combine sensations of his moaning and prodding.

When his lips and tongue returned to their uneven teasing of your clit, three fingers now swiping past your inner spot with every thrust, your hands came to his head. Fingers slipping through his hair and gripping every time your body shook. Encouragement, the more you tugged the surer he was he was doing the right things.

And oh, he was. You said the right things but Alastor always seemed to act on them. Your senses lodged themselves between the even stroking of your g-spot and the unpredictable movements of his tongue. One kept the pressure rising as your orgasm climbed, the other pushed you along jolt by jolt.

Curious thing. That night in the park he didn’t have much reaction to your enjoyment, but he found himself not fully softening in his lap as he continued. Normally, unless still physically stimulated or the rare time you stirred something in him, he wasn’t very… battle ready.

But the feeling of you pulling him in by the head, fingers in his hair and thighs at his cheeks; this was different than the others. He was sure now it wasn’t just physical pleasure you wanted. His pride said it was more.

Dozens of times before— he truly was a rake in some aspects, though admittedly it was all in the pursuit of avoiding “sex”, as defined by most, not chasing it — he helped a date find release with his tongue. But it never did anything for him. They moaned and said his name and screamed. Which was lovely. Who doesn’t enjoy recognition?

When you said his name, it was heavier. It was material, it had mass and as its gravity began its pull he found his mind circling that sound. He was pleasing his darling, not placating. And it made him react in that unusually crass way.

He felt like an apex predator when killing, tearing open animals made for him to hunt. But you made him feel baser. Prey in your gentle bite.

As your orgasm mounted, you began tugging at his hair to pull him off. You didn’t need him to stop, but everything was suddenly too sensitive. It was alarming to feel your body rocking from overstimulation. A strident cry filled the kitchen as your back arched off the table. He didn’t let up, despite how much you thrashed under his mouth. Rolling pleasure, muscles electrified and shaking beyond your control.

You patted his head harshly, “Good, I’m good. Alas—tor! Fuck!”

Ah, he loved when you swore. It punctuated your otherwise preternatural aura with a touch of humanity.

He stood and leaned over your now reclining body. Your pussy still clenching and legs shaking as he admired his work. You admired his shape in his apron, his broad shoulders and sharp eyes. Caught between your legs like a lion in a mouse trap; he acted like he had no way free of you. His grin widened and he made a display out of licking each finger clean. Eyes never leaving yours.

You knew many men to squawk at going down on a woman. To balk at wearing an apron. To grimace at the suggestion of cooking a meal while their lady took a nice bath or enjoyed a coffee. Alastor seemed to not think twice about any of it. How nice it would be. To have a partner beside you, to not be the woman in the often referenced “behind every great man is a great woman.”

“Alastor, I want you.” You pulled him down by the neck and stole a kiss. When he began to stroke himself fully back to life you pressed that hand to his chest. “Not like that. Though I’m not declining the offer.”

His eyes saw something in yours. “Sweetheart, you have me. There is no part of me that isn’t possessed by you. I know we keep things relatively… tightlipped for safety but I’m your fella and you’re my gal.” His nose touched yours. “But if you want more, I’ll become more. I’ll break myself apart and make myself better.”

Your heart sank. Sitting up to command a little authority, a feat given you were sitting panty-less on a kitchen table, “Don’t you dare. I’ll always meet you where you are, got it? Don’t go… groping around in the darkness for me; trying to find what I need. I’ll always come to you. Because you’re more than enough as you are.”

A little cough to clear his tightening throat, “I’ve not had a day of darkness since you arrived.” A kiss to your forehead before a soft thumbpad wiped at the corner of your eye. “Did I make you sad?”

You wanted to say it. But not now, not like this. You didn’t want Alastor to connect love and sex. To think one was necessary for the other.

While you were coming to learn how lovely it was to pair the two together, it was a fact they were wholly independent things. And you couldn’t allow him to think they were a set.

“You’ve made me too happy. It’s absolutely terrifying.”

But Alastor had found your expressions of acceptance always tumbled the circle of Love to overlap with that of Sex. It was only in that mixed space did he find desire in pleasure.

A wicked smirk, “Let me pile on my affections and drown out your fears.” His hips rolled into you again, a surprising eagerness returned to his lap. “Can I continue?”

With a nod and a smile, “But not another word of change, buster.” You leaned back on your hand for support. Alastor was happy to return to your heat, lining up and sinking into you. An embrace like no other, one he found particularly earnest when with you.

Close. Finally. You began where he ended, a natural extension of who he was and who he could be. The things he could have. A relieved sigh he didn’t try to hide before he began moving, a moment when his tension could melt. You were both an unseasonably warm autumn day and the cool comforting shade of an unfamiliar tree. Both the heat and the relief.

He watched your body rock against the table, even fully dressed you managed to look more scandalous than any show he’d seen downtown. He was grateful he didn’t seek this comfort often in others, the way his mind melted made him feel vulnerable. He couldn’t think straight. And then you began to make those lovely little groans, high pitched and needy, and he was sure his soul was errant.

As his thrusts deepened, cock no longer kissing your cervix but ramming into you with good intentions, you dropped back as you lost the battle against his hips.

Alastor’s arms slid up our waist and pulled your arms towards him, “Too far, I can’t see your face.”

Your arms were slung over his shoulders as your back curved for him, “You don’t need to see my face.”

“Tsk, wrong.”

Your new favorite place was right in front of him, wherever his line of sight was you wanted to be in it. Nose to nose, heads tilting to recapture soft lips and softer moans.

Until the softness left, Alastor’s skin slapping against yours as he dragged those lovely sounds from you. He watched your eyes roll closed, mouth open as you moaned with the safety of the seclusion of a country home. A thought bubbled up, inspired by you.

“I want the neighbors to hear you.” That smile half cocked across his upsettingly handsome face. His hand slipped between you both to repeat the motions he learned before. Hard and fast, no choice but to raise your voice.

Your head fell back, clit still sensitive, “You don’t have neighbors!” A new moan hitting the walls.

“I do— just a few miles down the road, dear.” His mouth latched onto your neck but he didn’t suck like he wanted, he couldn’t bite. Your skin was your job, your body not his to mark. Suddenly he remembered, “Do you still have that make up? For your bruises?”

You couldn’t understand why he would bring that up while balls deep in you but you nodded.

“Would it work on your neck?” He nipped lightly.

It clicked, “Absolutely.”

You felt like a teenager again. When his tongue swiped over your soft flesh before he began to suck on the skin there you could feel the heat rising off your chest. You could feel him everywhere, and with the knowledge he wanted to hear you, you tossed your shame out of the kitchen window and relaxed into the pleasure.

As he moved up your neck he left little marks behind. There was no sense left you didn’t occupy. He could smell the soap and sweat of your skin, taste your cunt still on his tongue, your sights and sounds a decadence he couldn’t get used to. And the feeling of you… velvety walls, a feeling finer than silk as he slipped in and out of you. So incredibly hot on his most sensitive areas, pulling him back in with admirable strength.

He felt his orgasm ratcheting up but tried to hold back. He wanted more time to experience your ecstasy, to wallow in your openness. Even pressed skin to skin now wouldn’t satisfy that deep desire for this unique level of intimacy. So he wanted to enjoy it for as long as he had it.

But, he knew he should prepare. “I don’t want to dirty your dress.” A lust heavy voice penetrating the nap of your neck. He’d made a risky release before at your urging, something he often thought about when work got quiet. But he knew he needed to think clearer now.

“Then don’t.” A terrible reply but you wanted all of him, every drop of his hunger for you. “Keep the mess in me.”

“My dear,” he slowed his hips, autopilot keeping them moving at all, “I don’t think now is the time for,” you tightened around him to trip him up, which worked spectacularly. Alastor had take several seconds before continuing, “talks on family planning.”

A pang of nausea and fear, small and sharp in your abdomen. It wasn’t that you weren’t aware of biology, just that Alastor brought out your baser animal instincts, too. And before, when he came buried as deeply as he could reach, it felt like you’d actually completed some ritual. Bears hibernated, birds migrated, Alastor came in you.

You’d never let a man do that before Alastor. “I just want to… accept everything you are willing to give me.”

He bit his bottom lip to redirect some attention away from his now throbbing member, “And when you’re sure on me, I’ll always provide.”

A pout that he kissed, you accepted the terms. An argument could be made you were already very sure, but you were well aware how naive that sounded when you’d known each other for so little time. Had a coworker told you she’d met a guy and within three months was ready for… the consequences, you’d have laughed and asked if she was drunk or just stupid.

Alastor wanted to provide. But he knew you’d be the one with the raw end of the deal, he couldn’t risk coercing a decision in the heat of the moment. If your mind was half was addled as his with pleasure then you were in no state for big decisions.

Life changing decisions.

Decisions that filled empty homes.

Fuck, why wasn’t he a less considerate man?

When his kiss deepened, so did his ministrations. He was fully sheathed and so unwilling to draw back more than a couple inches you wondered if he had changed his mind. It felt like a man not wanting to stray too far from home. One hand on the small of your back, his other other on the back of your neck. When he pulled out he pressed his tongue further, only stopping the kiss when he came onto the little space of table between your thighs. Soft and swollen lips parted as his breaths ran ragged. A smile spread across your face as you watched his eyes open, witnessing a pleasured blow out of his pupils.

When he grabbed a kitchen towel and cleaned the table, you chuckled at his grimace. “See? My way is cleaner.”

He didn’t reply at first, taking the cloth and hovering over the sink before tossing it into his trash. “Only in the short term. We can finish up tomorrow with the tools?”

Your legs kicked again, not ready to slide off, “Mm, it’ll be easier in the daylight.”

“Instead,” he zipped his pants but removed the belt and set it on the counter, “Let’s get zozzled* and sway around the sitting room? Crash where we land.” (*drunk)

“I’ll pour if you get the music on.”

He turned to leave but paused, “No, I’ll handle the drinks. You always have too heavy of a hand.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining last time…”

“I’m not sure I remembered I was at home and not at a drum* last time…,” He uncorked the label-less whiskey, grabbing two glasses with one hand. “Didn’t wanna insult the pretty waitress.” (*speakeasy)

Fair. You weren’t much for drinking and always underestimated the strength of illegal hooch. Some were weak and some could kill you. But fancy Alastor had connections with the kind of people no one dared to risk harm to, so he always had the most trustworthy goods.

Good music, great whiskey, and even better company. You thanked him for being safe while working, he praised your ability to learn new skills so quickly. After a few drinks he pushed the coffee table against the wall and you drunkenly swayed around the room to something playing smooth and low. As much as you enjoyed your conversations, having your head tucked under his chin as neither of you said a word somehow filled in the little cracks of your heart more so than any talk. For him too. No tension after sex, no stress of how long he’d get to breathe before the next instance of prodding to do it again. He could smile and close his eyes and feel the room swing and sway in total safety.

A safety neither of you knew was being threatened from afar.

When you woke, Alastor was gone. A note on the table letting you know he’d run out to grab some things for breakfast. Telling you to relax and recover.

You put the furniture back, bringing the glasses to the kitchen and his belt to the bedroom.

Coffee and a slow perusal of his home. Intimate details you tried to not stare at when he was there. The rare photo of his mother, a woman you didn’t speak about, a conversation you didn’t need to have, but someone you knew existed fondly still in his life. A silent thank you to her.

No photos of a man to give thanks to you so you turned to the little curios and mementos. 

Little seashells and sand dollars, a small gator’s skull. Books, about anatomy and history. Novels about crime and love and mystery. Ticket stubs for films he’d seen. Little bits of his mother scattered in. A woman’s necklace. A chatelaine* with all of the accessories and tools. (*wikipedia page)

When you felt you’d spied enough, you crawled into his side of the bed and inhaled as deeply as you could. His pillow smelled like him. You let yourself sleep off the hangover surrounded by pieces of Alastor.

Pieces you couldn’t contain. Pieces left around town as a dick* hunted for his personal monster. (*a detective, but also, a dick, fuck this dude?)

Beth, or Betty as you called her, the friend you often sang for, was cleaning up from the previous night when Brady walked in. She tried to tell him they were closed, but he took a seat at the counter anyway.

“I’m looking for a singer named Autumn. She been around lately?”

She paused, knowing the name was tied to your work. This man didn’t know you. “Whose asking?”

“The city of New Orleans”, he set his badge on the counter top.

“Is she in some kinda trouble?”

“She the kinda dame to get into trouble?”

Beth laughed, “She doesn’t try to but men, liquor, and jazz tend to make it happen. She’s okay, right?”

He took a deep sigh, trying to blink away the exhaustion and remember he needed to be someone strangers trusted. Being honest hadn’t been working and being rough barely got him a lead. “Well I was hoping you’d know. Found out someone roughed her up a bit ago and just wanting to make sure she’s okay. But I don’t have her legal name, no address, nothing to track her down.”

Shaking her head, she leaned onto the counter, “What? Some egg* forget it’s just a show?” Brady shrugged. “I can’t say. She hasn’t been by in a couple weeks.” (*man)

He asked why. Feeling the deadend approaching.

“She was just doing me a favor. Once she got a guy she didn’t have much time.”

Fighting the urge to slam his fists against the wood and sling his notebook across the bar, Brady took slow breaths. Jaw clenched as he grabbed his pencil, “That is wonderful news. Hopefully a fit guy who can… keep her safe.”

Beth laughed a little, “I don’t know about that. He’s kind of a daisy*, but real kind.” (*a non-masculine man)

“Could I get a name? Or her address? Wanna follow up. See for myself that she’s doing well.”

She tapped the bar with two fingers and winked, “Ah no can do. Flatfoot* or not, I don’t tell men where to find sleeping ladies. But her fella is in radio though. I recognized his voice right away. Popular too, really ritzy air about him.” (*cop, detective)

As he left, he slapped the notebook against his palm over and over. When he stopped to take a second to congratulate himself something caught his eye. Across the street was a park he knew well. Following the block and turning, he could see the white and green awning of the cafe he’d seen you at before.

Had he been there? He hadn’t questioned why you were alone on such a nice day. But maybe you weren’t. Maybe you’d been playing him from the start.

Enough games.

When you took the stage that evening, a Friday show with a promising crowd, you felt like solid gold. Alastor would be there to pick you up in a few hours, you had every need met. And now you had the adoration of strangers to pump up your chest.

Until you passed your come-hither eyes over the crowd and a striking ocean blue pair knocked the wind out of you.

James was standing behind Brady, mouthing an apology. You missed a beat in your routine but forced your smile back. It took a second, to slide back into the actress you were when away from Alastor. Every time it got harder and harder to fall back into that role but you managed. His eyes never left your face, and you thanked God your heaving chest could be seen as fatigue and not the sheer panic that had taken ahold of your body.

When you were on the other side of the curtain you considered rushing out the side door, into the alley and down the street. But you couldn’t. You’d successfully brushed him off for so long but now that he had seen you, had made it clear he was there for you, you couldn’t flee. Innocent people don’t hide from cops.

Feet dragging, you saw some of the dancers standing around the dressing room door. “He’s out of his gourd if he thinks I’m changing with him in there.” One said loud enough to ensure Brady heard. When you entered the room he was sitting at your make up table, legs spread and your shoes in his hands.

“There she is!” standing, he extended the shoes to you, “Don’t stare like a deer in the lights. I’m sure you knew I was coming. Slip these on, we’re going for a ride.” He gave them a shake, “You can call your mac* from the station and let him know you’ll be late.” (*man)

˖  ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei ,  @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog  , @poinappel l , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima a , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @rubyninja1 , @simphornies

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[samandcolbyownme]

more zach justice smut pleaseeee

As you WISH! I’m excited to write this one!

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language/swearing, sneaking around, Bridgerton setting/themed, unprotected sex, kissing, biting, hair pulling, secret sex, almost getting caught, lots of proper language/actions, and lots of fluff and nasty filth

This is inspired by Bridgerton. There will be no spoilers for part 1 of season 3! But, if you have seen the show, you know they’re all british.. so.. read this as if everyone has an accent.

Word Count: 3.5k | not edited

I genuinely thought this song was bridgerton coded for this specifically?? (also, I added this at the end, so instead of daddy it will be mother - when you read, it’ll make sense, hopefully, k love you all bye!)

◦❥•◦❥•◦

You’ve been tossing and turning for hours into the late night.

Your mind bouncing back and forth between Duke Zachary, or as he likes only you to call him, Zach, and the Queen’s ball.

You loved Zach, you’ve come to love him with your full being, you just didn’t know if he knew that, but you didn’t think he was that foolish.

You were named, what the gossip letter in your town - Lady Felicity calls, the Diamond of the season. Mainly because you gained a lot more looks than any of the other girls who are also looking for a suitor along side yourself.

You wanted a husband, of course, but you want Zach to be the one to take your hand in marriage. He’s never said about if he wanted to or not, but you just wanted him so bad you didn’t care what you had to do or say.

You were wrapped around his finger, but he couldn’t deny it no matter how hard he tried - He was wrapped around yours, too.

You rolled over, staring up at the ceiling as you remember the first time you saw him.

- Your mother reaches over, tapping your knee gently, “Y/n, sweetheart.” You remove your stare from the window and place it onto her with a soft smile, “Yes Mother?”

“You look beautiful tonight, darling.” She smiles, placing the edge of her fan to her lips as her eyes grow watery, “oh.” She shakes her head, “I just knew you would be this seasons diamond.”

You shake your head as you look down, “I don’t recall you ever taking a liking to Lady Felicity, now Mother, I-..” The carriage jolts forward and you laugh slightly, “I will find a husband on my own terms. Lady Felicty can speak about whatever they must.”

The door opens and your mother steps out first, followed by your brother and sister, and then you. You look around, nodding your head at the man who helped you step down.

“Alright.” Your mother says as she links her arm with yours, “Come along, my dear. I hear there’s a Duke looking for a lady to wed.” You raise your eyebrows, “A Duke you say? Is he handsome?” You laugh slightly, eyes glancing around at the beautifully decorated ballroom.

“From what I’ve come to know, he is the most beloved suitor by all the young ladies.” Your mother nudges your side, “But just remember, you need to keep your options open.”

You walk up to Queen Darcie and the person closest to her, Lady Caswel. You both do a small curtsy as you bow your heads. “Your Majesty.” Your mother smiles, looking over to Lady Caswel, “Lady Caswel.”

They both nod and then their eyes turn to you. You give them both a smile, “You both look magnificent tonight.”

“Mm.” Queen Darcie nods, “I must say, agreeing with town gossip is not my strongest moment, but you my dear, are the diamond of the season, if I do say so myself.” She points to you and you manage to keep your composure, “Oh my, thank you, your majesty.”

You curtsy to her again and your mother thanks her quickly before walking away with you. You look up at her and you both can’t help but giggle happily as you walk further away. As you rounded the corner, you were bumped into, kind of roughly, by some man walking by.

“Excuse yourself, mister.” You say as you turn, giving him a glaring look, which quickly broke as soon as his eyes met yours, “Please, accept my apologies, um..”

You instantly finish his sentence, “Y/n y/l/n.”

“Please.” He repeats as he moves closer, his hand, his grip just hovering over the skin on your bicep, “My apologies, Miss Y/n.”

His hand moves down to take your hand in his. His lips press against your glove covered knuckles, and even thought his isn’t touching your skin, his touch still sets you on fire.

Giving you a feeling you have never felt for someone before, “Duke Zachary.” —

You let out a sigh before finally giving in to just being awake.

A yawn slips out as you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, reaching forward to grab your satin robe off of the arm of the chair by your bedside stand.

You slip your feet into your matching slippers before standing up. The back of the robe falling to cover the back of your legs as you tie it closed in the front.

You pause, your fingers coming up to cover your lips as your eyes meet the man you shouldn’t be seeing, like this at least.

You glance over your shoulder before you move to unlock your window and push it open. You lean forward, shaking your head as you fight back laughter as you watch the man scale the walls of your home to get to you.

He’s finally face to face with you and you can’t help but smile and lunge in to kiss him.

He wraps an arm around your waist, pushing you backwards as he climbs in and closes the window, “Have you missed me, sweetheart?” He whispers against your lips as his hands move to undo the bow resting on your torso.

“More than you can ever imagine.” You smile as you pull him back to your bed, “We have to be qu-“

He kisses you mid sentence, mumbling a quiet, “I know” before pushing you back to lay on the bed, his body moving up over yours, kissing the skin that isn’t being covered by your robe or nightgown.

“Please.” You beg as you lace your fingers through his hair, “Touch me. It has been far..” His hand drags your nightgown up your thigh.

“Too..” you breathe out as you feel his hand dip between your, now parting thighs, “Long, my darling.”

You lay your hand on his neck, biting down on your lip as your feel his lips press against your skin, his fingers moving to lay on your clit and he looks up at you with a smirk, “Mm, no panties, sweetheart?”

You bite your lip, giving him a shrug, “Couldn’t sleep.”

He licks his lips, parting them as he watches your face twist with pleasure as he starts to slowly rub circles on your clit.

Your nails dig into his neck and you let out a semi loud moan. Zach kisses your parted lips, your panting breathes brushing against his, “Shh.”

He slides two fingers down and pushes them into your soaked cunt, “Did you succeed with pleasuring yourself?”

You whimper as Zach’s question makes a rose colored tint appear a top your cheeks, “N-no.” He tilts his head, “No? Did you do it like I showed you, darling?”

You nod, rolling your hips as you desperately chase your release that’s building up rather quickly, “I-I tried, Zachary.”

He groans at his full first name coming from your lips, “We shall work on it another time, my love.” He leans in, moving his lips with yours and your hands pull him closer to you, whimpering against his lips as his fingers are dragging you over the edge.

He pushes his bicep under your head and curls his arm around to lay his hand over your mouth.

Your walls squeeze his fingers as they work you through your high, his other hand keeping your moans from getting the two of you caught.

That would be a nightmare, people knowing that you have been, as they say, defiled before marriage.

“I have missed this.” Zach whispers, “I have missed you.” He plants a few kisses to your cheek as he withdrawals his fingers from you.

He brings them up to rest upon your bottom lip and they part like they already knew what to do.

He gasps as he watches your lips wrap around them, humming as your tongue works up and down, licking off the taste of yourself, “If anyone knew.. just how devious you truly are..”

He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as his eyes scan over your face and you smirk, bringing your finger up drag along his jawline, “And just what would they say?”

You hum lowly as your eyes meet his, “Do tell me, my darling.”

He rolls over, pinning your hands down by your head, “I think they would go on a ravenous tangent about how I defiled your pureness and ruined such a beautiful..” he kisses your chest, “young woman.”

He groans into your neck as his tongue drags up your skin, “But they wouldn’t be saying those things if they knew just how radiant you look beneath the touch of my own hand.”

You moan out at his words and his kiss cuts it short. While your lips move in a heated passion, his hand moves down to drag your nightgown up your legs and hold it at your waist while he grinds against you.

Your hand that isn’t still pinned down, moves down to undo the button on his trousers. Zach smirks and shakes his head, “Getting so much quicker at that.”

You smile and slip your hand in, both of you gasping quietly when your hand slides against his cock.

Zach reaches down, laying a hand over yours, “I need to be inside of you.”

You move to take off your panties as quick as you can, all while he’s pushing his trousers down his thighs, “so beautiful.” He leans forward, eyes locked onto yours as your legs fall over your waist.

You feel the tip of his cock rub against your opening and you feel your heart beating faster, “P-please.” You whisper, hips practically moving on their own, begging for the feeling of his cock inside of you.

Zach’s head falls, resting against your forehead as your moans from him sliding into you, mix together, “Oh, my god.” He sighs, shaking his head slightly, “It always feels like I’m taking you for the very first time again.”

You whimper as he crashes his lips onto yours, his hand sliding up to gently wrap around your neck, “I love you.”

You part your lips, adoring those words like you haven’t heard them over and over again.

You’d marry Zach now, but your mother thinks it’s best to give it a little while, make sure you truly feel happy with him, and not just because of his title.

Your mother would turn into an absolute lunatic if she knew just how often you see Duke Zachary and also, what you do with him when no one is watching.

“I love you.” You whisper, nodding up at him as you lay a hand on his cheek, “I love you.”

He pulls you close to him, rolling over onto his back. He grips your hips, getting you to keep moving. He moves the nightgown that fell down to block his view, “You take me so incredibly well, darling.”

You look down at him, biting into your lip to muffle your moans as your hands push his crumpled dress shirt up.

He reaches up, pulling down the low cut neckline so it’s under your breasts. His eyes focus on his hands moving to knead and squeeze, earning whimpers from you.

You gasp loudly and Zach pulls you down onto his chest, his arms wrap around your back before he begins to thrust upward.

You bury your face into his chest, gasping and clawing at his chest as you feel suddenly feel nothing but pleasure radiate all through your body.

It wasn’t long after, Zach’s hips come to a slow stop, his arms loosen around your body and his chest heaves you up and down with each quick breath he takes.

It’s silent, nothing but the faint pants coming from your bodies, which lay motionless together on your bed.

“The Queen’s Ball is tonight.” You say as your eyes glance over at the clock on your nightstand that reads 04:26 AM, “I’m going with Mother in a few hours to fetch my dress from the Modiste.”

You sit up, fixing your nightgown before standing, “Mother thinks I should explore more options.”

Zach furrows his brows, sitting up as soon as the words leave your lips, “Hang on, that doesn’t make any sense, I thought she loved me?”

You laugh slightly, “She does, darling. She does. And I do, too.” You lean down to kiss his lips, “I think the Queen wants to watch the men fall for this seasons diamond.”

“Mm.” Zach nods, pursing his lips, “I’m going to have to put up a harder fight out there, huh?”

You cover your mouth as you giggle, crawling back into his lap, “I think it’s quite..” you scrunch your nose and smirk, “Sexy.”

He straights his posture and smiles, “Well, thank you m’lady.” You laugh and press kisses to his neck. He pulls his neck away and turns his face into hours, “I don’t believe we have time to go again, my love.”

You sigh, still attempting to kiss him, “Are you certain?”

He chuckles quietly and lifts his hand and grabs you by the neck. You gasp at the sudden move and he pushes you back, biting his lip at how much control he has over you, what you and Duke Zachary have is once in a lifetime.

“My mind isn’t going to be able to focus on the Queen’s Ball tonight.” He shakes his head, eyes moving from his hand to your eyes, “Not when I have the imagine of my hand wrapped around this beautiful little throat in there, as well.”

Your breath hitches at his words and he can’t help but smirk, “I’ll see you tonight.” He pulls you in, pecking your lips before moving to fix himself as he walks over to your window.

“Be safe.” You stand up, watching as he climbs out the open window. He looks up at you and gives you a wink, “Always.”

And with that, he’s gone, but you knew you were definitely seeing him way before the Queen’s Ball.

◦❥•◦❥•◦

Your secret romance with Duke Zachary has been going on since the night he ran into you, even after the nights you spent dancing and flirting with other men, mainly just to make your other and the Queen happy.

You and Zach both knew that it didn’t mean anything. You saved everything for him, especially when you got him alone afterwards.

You were certain, as soon as you laid eyes on him, that he was the one, and just like you told Zach, you were the diamond of the season.

You had more suitors coming to your home to try and swoon you in a day than you really thought was unnecessary.

Zach, of course. Showed up everyday and stayed until they all left. He intimidated them, which you couldn’t help but snicker secretly at when you seen the look on the losing suitors face.

You can never bring yourself to ask Zach about it, you just convince yourself that it’ll happen, but it’s almost the end of the season and you haven’t had a ring slipped on your finger yet.

You took a deep breath, smoothing your hands over the fabric of the beautiful dress beneath your bare hands, “Anastasia did a marvelous job.”

You look over at your mother in the mirror, “Don’t you think, mother?”

Your mother looks up, “Oh yes. Yes. I believe she did do a very-“

“What is it?” You cut her off, turning to face her. The housemaid glances up at you and you sigh slightly, trying to compose yourself, “Sorry.”

You look up at your mother and she tilts her head, “The Queen wants you engaged by tonight.”

“Tonight? Why so soon? What has changed, mother?”

She tilts her head, “You are drawing.. too much attention away from the other girls. The Queen thinks it is best you accept one of the engagements you already have extended out to you.

You feel a dull ache in your chest.

The engagements.

You were actually dreading this, but you can only blame yourself in this situation. You were too caught up with sneaking around and lying to everyone around you that you’re forced to pick one of the options given and the one you one isn’t there.

“Talia. Please give my mother and I a moment.” You glance down at your housemaid and she instantly leaves the room.

“I love Duke Zachary, mother.” You shift towards her, moving the loose skirt of your gown with your hands, “He loves me. I know he’ll propose, I just..”

“He’s..” she steps close, leaning in, “Your brother told me that he’s what they call.. a rake.. I believe.”

You shake your head, “If Duke Zachary spent his time at that underground drunken gambling ring, he would know about the three engagement offers.”

Your mother raises her brows, “And you know this how, sweetheart?”

“He would have spoken to me about it, of course.” You swallow, “On our afternoon walks, he would have asked me what I was going to do because he is still an eligible suitor to me, mother.”

She nods, “Very well then.” She takes a deep breathe, “If Duke Zachary does not propose before midnight tonight. You will accept another suitors proposal. Right.”

“No.” You shake your head, “I won’t, mother. You cannot make me marry someone I do not love and I promise you I will not love anyone like I love Zachary.”

You step down off of the platform, “I will marry him. I will have him children.”

Your mother’s eyes grow wide and she lays a hand on her chest, “Have yo-

You bite down on your lip, “I’m not, but you should see your face.” You raise your brows, laughing at the fact that Zach has rubbed off on you in more ways that. One.

Your mother scoffs, “Y/n. You will not disgrace the name of this family by not obeying the queens order. You will be engaged by to-“

“I’ll tell you something right now, mother. I would rather burn my whole life down than to do something that will not bring me joy for the rest of my life.”

She stares at you for a few moments, “Is there a reason he hasn’t proposed yet, darling? Has that thought crossed your thoughts at all?”

You shake your head, “Have you not heard the rumors? What lady Felicity has said about Duke Zachary and I?” You walk over, ”He is poetry, and I am his poet.. Please, mother. Give him time.”

She shakes her head, “We must do what the Queen has asked of us.”

You take a few steps back, bunching up your dress as you shake your head, “No.” You run towards the door, dress unbuttoned and ruffling behind you as you run down the hall.

Your mother running out the door after you, “No! Y/n, come back here!”

“Mother no.” Your eldest brother grabs her and holds her back.

You make your way out the front doors, a small crowd following you, unsure of what’s happening, they’re just trying to ensure your safety.

“Y/n!”

You freeze, tear soaked face looking up at Zach, “Zach?” You whisper, barely audible, “What.. what are-“

You stop walking when Zach drops down to one knee, “Y/n..” he starts, reaching out for your hands, “My love.”

You walk up to him immediately, placing your hands into his, not even bothering to wipe away your tears.

“I love you. The other day you asked me why I love you and I told you the truth. You feel like home to me. You have bewitched me. Your mind, your body. Your soul. You complex me in the best ways and I just have this fire within me that only your kiss can put out.” He pulls you down to his level and you sit on your knees, hands moving to cup his cheeks as his do the same to you.

“The most beautiful part about all of this, is that I wasn’t even looking when I found you. If you hadn’t snapped at me for bumping into you, I would have kept moving right along.”

You laugh slightly and sniffle. Zach wipes away your tears and looks into your eyes, “Will you choose me to be the one to spend the rest of your life with?”

“You know about the other engagements?” You squint your eyes and Zach nods, “Well, when you’re running down the street trying to get to you while listening to your sister scream that you need to be engaged by tonight, I got the rest myself.”

“My sis-“ you look over at your sister and she smiles, giving you a small wave. You laugh, “Unbelievable.” You look at Zach, “So what are you asking Duke Zachary?”

He smiles, “I believe, I’m asking if you will do me the honor in marrying me, Miss Y/n.”

He pulls out a ring from his suit pocket and you gasp, “Oh my gosh.” You look up at him, nodding, “Yes, over and over. Yes.”

You pull him in for a kiss and everyone around you cheers as he brings you to your feet, slipping the ring in before he lifts you up, lips on yours as he spins you around, “I love you.”

“I love you.”

◦❥•◦❥•◦

Let me know what you thought of this! As always, I love you all and thank you for reading!! 🖤🖤

Likes and reblogs are majorly appreciated!!

[buttercupjosh]

Seasons of Love

(Gif credit to @youmustlovehim)

Word count: 2,772

Genres: strangers to lovers to exes, a little bittersweet

Warnings: none

A/N: I’ve had pieces of details of this fic in mind for a while and I started to slowly write it out over the past few months. This title comes from Seasons of Love from the musical RENT, although there’s nothing in the story connects to specific details from that. The story is not based off of anything specific, just a plot that had been simmering in me for some time. It’s not set at a specific moment in time (It’s taking place in a fictional future but you could also say that it’s set this season. However, the season is still ongoing at the moment and anything can happen or change). It’s written with a female reader in mind because I’m a female of color but the reader doesn’t specifically have to be a POC or a woman and there’s little dialogue. As always, I’m open to any and all feedback, comments or questions; just put them in my inbox or dm me. Thank you so much in advance for reading, I appreciate it😌

(P.S. I have other stories (linked here) that I have written for other players as well if you want to check it out)

““How do you measure a year in the life? How about love?” -Seasons of Love from the RENT musical soundtrack

Prologue

“Excuse me, is this a good book to read?” a deep accented voice asks you.

“Dune? For sure, it’s an epic story,” you reply.

“Do you think I could finish it in 4 days?” the voice asks.

“4 days? Unless you’re an Olympian at reading and processing complex storylines, I’d say it might take you close to 4 weeks or even 4 months to read it all,” you respond.

“Oh,” the voice says in defeat, “what do you recommend then?”

You list off some sci-fi recs for the towering cute man and he takes your suggestions into mind before deciding to get a copy of We, a novel written by his fellow countryman Yevgeny Zamyatin.

“I’ve never read that one,” you chimed.

“Should we start a book club then so you can read it?” the voice asks with a chuckle.

“Um, how can I start a book club with someone whose name I don’t even know?”

Slightly embarrassed, the voice introduces himself as Andrei and you introduce yourself to him as you shake hands. His hand in yours felt so comforting for someone you just met under an hour ago. Andrei was impressed that you knew so much about books. One of his New Year’s resolutions was to read more so that’s how he ended up at Barnes and Noble talking to you. You were at the store, just looking around for something new to read, and stumbled into the sci-fi section before checking out with your new copy of Happy Place by Emily Henry.

“So are we starting this book club then, Andrei?” you slyly ask.

Andrei wanted to have someone as a reading buddy to discuss reading with him (the other guys on the team weren’t as into reading as him) and it didn’t hurt that he had someone who knew a lot about literature right in front of him so he agreed to it.

“As long as you read “We” with me, please?” Andrei charmingly requested.

Although sci-fi wasn’t your thing at the moment, you couldn’t quite say no to the man with big brown doe eyes so you grabbed a copy off the shelf. Before going over the parameters of the newly formed book club, Andrei kindly paid for both of your books and you decided to discuss the rules in the cafe located inside of the store.

You and Andrei sat in a semi-secluded booth towards the back of the cafe and began sharing some of your backstories with each other over drinks and muffins. Andrei was again impressed by your educational background of holding an MFA in Creative Writing from NC State and your job as an adjunct English professor at Wake Tech Community College; it definitely explained your love of reading but your dream was to move to New York and become an author one day. You were working on a manuscript for a cute romance novel but still had a lot of things to do before it was ready to be presented to a publisher. The professor job was just a placeholder until you finished up your manuscript and saved up enough money to get a literary agent; you loved writing as much as you loved reading but getting your foot in the door in the writing industry was rough. You listened to Andrei as he told his story about his life and how he ended up in America through his hockey career. You and Andrei were both curious about each other and asked so many questions to each other for such a long time that you didn’t even notice that the store was going to close. Neither of you wanted your time together to end but you both had lives to get to outside of the store. You both laughed when you realized that you and Andrei spent so much time getting to know each other that not once throughout your conversation did you discuss the rules of the book club. Before leaving, you and Andrei exchanged numbers. You both agreed to read the first 50 pages and scheduled to meet up at a different cafe to discuss what you read so far in two weeks.

————————————————————

Winter

Within a year, the book club didn’t last long but it did lead to you and Andrei being in constant contact with each other. Due to both of your schedules, neither of you really had the time to sit down and have deep intellectual discussions about what you read; you both did end up finishing reading We but you finished it at different paces. Being the book lover you are, you completed the book first but Andrei finished reading the book while on the road and he wanted to discuss the ending with you so bad that he surprisingly FaceTime called you. That one FaceTime call with Andrei turned into a long series of texts, phone calls, and more FaceTime calls and eventually spending time together offline. You and Andrei considered each other to be just friends but that friendship eventually turned into you falling for each other.

Andrei was a hot commodity around Raleigh and in Russia with his DMs bursting at the seams but he only had eyes for you. He had never fallen in love with someone the way that he did for you; being with you was different than what he was used to but it worked in the best way. You knew the risks and chaos of being with a busy, famous athlete but Andrei was worth all of it. You blended and adjusted well into the hockey romantic partner lifestyle and Andrei even taught you how to ice skate. Despite the busyness of your lives, you and Andrei still showed up for and made time for each other, even if it was something as small as meeting up at your place for a post-afternoon game milkshake from The Shiny Diner or as big as taking Andrei as your date to your work holiday party. Whenever you had the time, you and Andrei created fun, everlasting memories together. A somewhat sweet memory that Andrei would always remember was when on one cold evening, you wanted to surprise your Russian boyfriend by attempting to make him borscht, a traditional Eastern European soup that was his favorite comfort food. The soup did not come well at all so you and Andrei ended up ordering Panera Bread to warm your bones. Although the soup you made tasted unpleasant, Andrei appreciated the fact that you took the time and effort to learn something from his culture and did that from your heart. The poetic thing about your relationship was that you patiently understood each other, despite the language and culture barrier; your relationship just worked like two puzzle pieces clicking together into place.

————————————————————

Spring

As the flowers bloomed around Raleigh, the school year for you ended on a good note and unsurprisingly, the Canes made playoffs. Deep into your manuscript writing, Andrei surprised you with a trip to New York after the Canes were eliminated from playoffs. You and Andrei were already spending the entire off-season together so this trip wasn’t a necessity but it was a nice thing to do.

Your time in New York was amazing and full of love, fun, and plenty of delicious food. While you were in the City, you took the opportunity to meet with some potential literary agents and publishers; although your manuscript was about 90 percent done, it didn’t hurt to check those things out. Andrei was supportive of you and your dreams but he selfishly wished that those dreams didn’t include moving to New York and that you would stay in Raleigh and have a life with him there. He had already known his future was tightly connected to the City of Oaks but you had a desire to create a future somewhere else. You knew these dreams of yours could possibly involve leaving the love of your life; neither of you tried not to dwell too hard on the stress and pressure that those dreams added to your relationship. You also knew the publishing industry was cutthroat and competitive and that there was no guarantee that your book would be picked up by a top publisher but those realities didn’t stop you from at least trying to take the steps towards that dream.

Outside of this pressure, you and Andrei still made the best of your time in NYC. You also loved musical theater so of course, you had to catch a Broadway show. Andrei, being the amazing boyfriend that he is, actually secured tickets for the two of you to see Hamilton at the Richard Rogers Theater. You had watched the live stage production on Disney+ and knew the entire soundtrack; Andrei went into the show blindly, only remembering bits and pieces from the songs that you played around him. Seeing Hamilton live on Broadway was a great experience that you both enjoyed. You and Andrei got to see New York City in a different light; you got to explore more of the city that you longed to call home and Andrei got to see more of the city as a true tourist. This entire trip was something that you both would forever cherish.

————————————————————

Summer

Not long after you left New York, you went to Russia for the first time to meet and spend time with his family and friends and to see the place that made Andrei into the man that you love. You learned more about Russian culture, Andrei’s childhood, and even was a guest at his cousin’s wedding. Andrei’s friends and family approved of you as a person and they liked you with him; they could all tell how truly in love you were with each other. You also spent some time together in Turkey and around Europe for some much-needed relaxation; you got to see the beautiful blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea in Greece, eat authentic handmade pasta in Italy, and kiss your lover in front of the Eiffel Tower in Paris.

Traveling around with Andrei made you feel like you were the protagonist of a great summer read. Speaking of reading, Andrei still maintained his goal of reading more books, reading just about anything and everything, and even started to recommend things for you to read. Before you would fall asleep at night, you would share with each other a fact or synopsis of something that you read that day.

While Andrei was occupied with his off-season training during the day, you applied for publishing jobs, presented your finally completed manuscript to several literary agents, and ended up securing one. It was relieving to officially have a literary agent to represent you but the next biggest hurdle was the painstaking editing process and waiting for your work to be picked up by the right publisher.

————————————————————

Fall

After the bliss of the off-season ended, it was time for the hustle and bustle of your teaching job and hockey season to return. About 2 weeks before preseason started, you and Andrei moved in together. It was exciting to get to live with your lover and spend even more time (whenever you could) with him. It was also nice that you got to add your style to the place and make it your own; having a home also meant that you could host your friends, Andrei’s teammates, and sometimes family for holidays and events and create more cherished memories together. Being a hopeless romantic who loved romance novels, you had always wondered who would be the man to sweep you off your feet but you sort of already knew that man was Andrei.

A fun memory that you made together was the Sunday before the season opener, you and Andrei took a trip to a local corn maze with a pumpkin patch to take cute couple photos together and to also check it out. These photos would be added into some of the new picture frames and a scrapbook of memories in your shared home. The photographer did an excellent job, capturing the love that flowed between you in still moments. For the rest of your time, you wandered around the corn maze, hand-in-hand, with your lovely boyfriend. The infamous oak trees in Raleigh began to shed their leaves and the year began inching closer and closer towards the end.

————————————————————

Winter part 2

One snowy morning, you got an email from McGraw Hill, offering you a job as an educational copy editor in their NYC office. You couldn’t believe it, you were on the path of working at a publisher and hopefully, one day getting your book published; all that you had been working so hard for was starting to pay off in tremendous ways. The only issue that was concerning you was breaking the news to Andrei. You knew he would be happy for you but you also knew what the next steps were. You tried to hold in your tears but after practice, Andrei came home to you crying. He immediately dropped his stuff and concerningly asked you what was wrong. You explained to Andrei that you were crying joyfully over the news you received. Words couldn’t describe how proud Andrei was for you so he picked you up and spun you around in happiness.

“I’m so proud of you, my love,” Andrei repeated as he peppered kisses around your face.

He was truly proud of you but the ecstasy of the good news came with the most painful come down. Andrei didn’t want you to move to New York but he had already known for a while that you wanted to leave. He did try to convince you to stay and he hoped for months that you would change your mind but you didn’t so he helped you pack some of your things. Andrei couldn’t help you move up there so he entrusted Nykki, Martin Necas’ girlfriend, to help you settle into your new home and life, more than 500 miles away from the address you once shared.

You and Andrei did try dating long distance but your relationship unfortunately didn’t last very long. Between the responsibilities of your new job, revising over your manuscript, trying to get your book published somewhere, and Andrei’s hectic hockey schedule, you began to drift apart from each other and the physical distance between you didn’t help either. You enjoyed living in New York and you did miss each other from time to time but Andrei knew it would be unfair to ask you to give up on your dreams to come back to Raleigh and be with him. Despite not dating anymore, you and Andrei talked occasionally but not as frequently as it was when you first met and still remained friends. It was okay that the relationship had run its course because it taught you both a lot about love. Andrei came into your life for a season and those seasons you shared together were full of so much undeniable light and love. The love that you shared was different from the romance novels you read but your relationship wrote its own beautiful story.

————————————————————

Epilogue

Before catching his flight to Miami for the NHL All-Star break, Andrei went into the bookstore at Raleigh-Durham International Airport to look for a book to read on his flight. In the book section, he spotted Seasons of Love, written by you with a New York Times Bestseller sticker on the cover. Over the years, Andrei had heard some things about your novel in passing but he purposely avoided reading the book because the breakup was a bit painful for him. After you achieved getting your book published, you wanted to send Andrei a signed copy but decided against it because you weren’t sure if he would actually read the story and didn’t want to come across as pretentious either. He debated back and forth about getting the book before finally asking a store employee about their opinion about it.

“I read that one. It’s a fictional story but I heard it’s loosely based on a true story about the author’s relationship with some cool guy. It’s a super good read if you like romance," said the store employee.

Hearing what the store employee said about your book made Andrei’s heart warm a little and he purchased it as his read for his trip. After returning back to Raleigh, conveniently, there was a book signing by a familiar author at a local Barnes and Noble that Andrei decided to attend. Although Andrei didn’t get his happy ending with you in real life, you sure gave him one with the words that you wrote on the page.

[tideswept]

15 questions for 15 friends

I was tagged by a few people, so~here we go!

1. Are you named after anyone?

Kinda! I was supposed to be born a boy, and absolutely nothing was prepared for me when I turned out to be female. And mom went "I like my sister's name" and named me that. (This caused a lot of drama.) So I wasn't named after her per se but....

I ... I was almost a Peter.

2. When was the last time you cried?

Few weeks ago.

3. Do you have kids?

4. What sports do you play/ have you played?

None tbh other than what I was forced to in school. Oh. OH WAIT SWIMMING IS A SPORT. Okay. Yeah. I did a lot of that. I just, uh, never view it that way?

5. Do you use sarcasm?

... having a small crisis upon the realization that I rarely do these days. god what happened to me I was such a sarcastic little demon I'm all EARNEST now

6. What's the first thing you notice about people?

Hair. Weird thing, right? Mostly because I'm always impressed by how people can keep their hair tamed. (me, with curly hair: [despair]) Followed quickly by body language.

7. What's your eye colour?

Brown! I'm told it looks green up close but ehhhh. (doubt)

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Scary movies! Or, you know, scary movies with (relative) happy endings are also good!

9. Any talents?

I have a knack for detecting accents/identifying languages and having a general, if not specific, idea of where people are from. I also have a scarily good aim. (though my form is atrocious and under no circumstances should ever be mimicked)

I'm also a pretty decent cook! Bit hit or miss as a baker, though.

10. Where were you born?

Venezuela!

11. What are your hobbies?

Writing, gaming, reading, cooking, being a lil' nerdy about Disney comics and Disney history overall. Obsessively analyzing data.

12. Do you have any pets?

I point you upwards! Big one is Jupiter (ASH) and the small one is Saturn (Russian Blue). Both of them are about 13 years old.

13. How tall are you?

5'2... and a half. (It counts!) [158cm]

14. Favourite subject in school?

English, since it gave me an excuse to read and tune out everything else lmao. (I was often bullied, or, I guess, attempted, once I got into a book you could scream in my ear and I was full Helen Keller. Who? What? Don't care.) ♥ Depending on the teacher, I also really liked history and science! Basically, as long as I don't have to do math and the teacher wasn't a bitter monster, I enjoyed the subject.

15. Dream job?

Ethnologist! Oh my god, I'd be so delighted to get to nerd out like that! ♥ With the rise of various internet cultures I think, more than ever, we could really use more of them around. It's such an interesting thing to do to be able to delve in order to contrast and compare, to find links and reasons for variances, commonalities, schisms--all of them. There's so much data available online, and it paints such a colorful, and sometimes tragic, implications that extend far into our burgeoning global identity and--

I'll shush. 👀

Tagging: @scatteredheroes @irrationalsense @dark--whisperings @aigoos @gretchenzellerbarnes @qed23 @mollysunder @mari-lwyd-fannibal-blog @skyerie @minimal23 @ellelans @mutteringretreats1 and anyone who hasn't yet gotten tagged/wants to do it!

[simonnebethel]

~ M+S Words into Potions Event ~

Totally not a banner I just made

I am doing Moon + Seraph's Words into Potions challenge in March! Decided it was a good excuse as any to complete the first draft of my romantasy project(and to also give it a name 😅).

Title: To Hear a Lovebird(may or may not be a placeholder 👀)

Genre: Fantasy, Romance, Adventure

Summary: Prunhilt Helisende, an elven farmer living quietly in a dark forest, is forced to travel with a mercenary after they were both seen together by a group of foreign bounty hunters. Just interacting with the charismatic but mysterious Stigbyrr has put a price over her head, and now she has to travel with him until he can find some way to get her back home safely without the elusive bounty hunters noticing. Along the way, the pair find out more about each other that may effect the already blossoming romance between them, or pull them even closer.

I just started writing this and I have not talked about it much, so I have no links besides a small snippet to share.

Also, have this excerpt.

He brought the mug to his lips again, but stilled at the sight of two figures approaching him. Dietrich the tavern keeper, and the pretty lady who played the waldzither only a few moments ago. “Stigbyrr, this is Prunhilt Helisende. Prune, this is Stigbyrr, the mercenary I told you about,” Dietrich turned to Stig after introducing him. “She has a potential job for you.” Prune stared at him for a few moments before turning away, looking down at the table instead. She explained her problem, but Stig was only half-focused on her strange accent. He instead looked at her dark umber hair that was braided to the side, shorter strands framing her sun-tanned skin. Like most of her kind, she had black eyes. Even the sclera was the same inky shade of black, but in the dim lamplight he could see the faintest shade of red. I’m staring, he thought, and quickly shut his gaping mouth and focused on the lady before him. What was she saying? A beast, in the woods? “What kind of beast?” He asked. Her eyes widened just before she averted her gaze again. “I—I don’t know. It only kills at night, and has sharp claws that fester the wound. Worms come to collect their due faster than I’ve ever seen,” She replied. Most creatures of these woods are relatively harmless, as long as whoever is traveling through them respect the Forest Folk who inhabit them. He traced the rim of his cup as he thought. I couldn’t imagine why a farmer who was born and raised here was suddenly having trouble. “Interesting. I’m not knowledgeable in the beast of these lands, but if it’s a nocturnal creature, then it has to have a den somewhere that it sleeps in during the day. Have many caves in this forest?” She shrugged, appearing unsure. “I suppose we do, but I don’t go wandering unless I have a destination in mind. Exploring is a good way to become a sprite’s plaything.” “Oh,” he nodded, “I know all too well. The Forest Folk where I come from are as cold and unforgiving as the weather.” He tilted his head. “And…are you sure this isn’t just some fairy you accidentally ticked off?” She laughed and shook her head, and Stig swore he never heard a sound so pretty. “No. I dare say we have different experiences when it comes to the Forest folk. Any farmer who resides in this forest has to respect the creatures who have lived here long before them if they wish to dwell in it. I swear I have done nothing to anger a forest spirit.” He sighed and sat back in his chair. A job that will require me to get my hands bloody, but a job nonetheless.“Well, I suppose I won’t know what it is until I kill it, yes? I think it would be safer to look for it in the morning, so you’ll just have to risk another night with it lurking around. I must also ask about my payment.”

[luveternals]

paring: Konig x rebel reader. rating: mature, MDNI cw: dystopia AU, enemies to lovers, angst, (not a story, just a sneak peak of the 1st version, sorry. link to thd completed story!) a/n: I haven't forgotten to post nor did I just decided to drop writing or whatever. This story just turned out to be more complicated than originally planned. Lie, I haven't planned bananas. I literally had no idea what to write until 3h ago and I was already 5h past the time I wanted to post the third story lol hate to do this but I'll have to push it back to my next scheduled day. ~ sneak peek of the 1st version ~ full story in 2 days ~

It’s difficult to stay true when the goal you’re trying to reach is not your own. Well, you do support the idea, somewhat, you wouldn’t be here otherwise. Wouldn't be taking cover behind a broken wall, breath forcefully kept slow and stead, and hoping the shadows would be enough to cover your tracks. Wouldn’t be risking your life for a mission that is destined to fail.

It’s an trap and, somehow, you feel your leaders knew it and still sent you out.

One of your brothers lays dead at your feet, his blood stains your feet and will lead the enemy to you the moment they find the footprints.

There’s a soft sniffle and you spin around to slap your hand against one of your sisters’ mouth. She stares at you and you stare back, your hand leaves a red imprint on her face and you see her twitch with the desperate need to wipe it off.

It was a set up. You’re all going to die. But your mission isn’t over yet.

She’s crying.

Go. You tell he with a motion of your free hand. She shakes her head eyes wide with panic, but you're already pushing her back. Go and live.

You don’t check if she does, body turning and slipping around the corner before you could even register any further protests.

The sound of fighting seems to be coming from all directions. Your family is fighting with all it has while you give your last attempt to make this total failure some kind of meaning.

You’re almost at the end of the alley when you stumble to a stop. A man stands there, body covered in gear and rifle steady in his hands as he points it in your direction.

He doesn’t say a thing but doesn’t move either. Don’t move or i’ll shoot, his posture says.

Your own gun is raised, solid and loaded and aimed at his head. “Get out of my way,” you says, throat dry and voice a breathless demand.

But he’s a solid obstacle. One taller than most and built to fight until his heart is forced to stop beating. He simply blinks and your grip tightens around the weapon.

“I will shoot you,” you say, but there is no real threat behind the words.

And he knows.

He lowers his gun at the words and, with movements smooth and so damn steady, pulls his head gear off.

His face is still hidden away whatever cloth he’s using doesn’t give much away about what one would find underneath it.

But the design has come so familiar to you during this fucked up war that your grip falters.

“I’m not letting you do it,” he says, and his voice and accent at the last hit your heart can take.

You arms go slack, and your head drops forward. Rain had started trickling at some point, the grim and filt of your boots and clothes polling at your feet. “Do you know how much i’ve lost for this?”

He doesn’t say anything but the silent words he must be thinking make your fists bench into fists.

“Your killing my brothers!”

“And you're killing mine,” his words take you by surprised, you didn’t expect him to say anything at all. Not about this.

What you did expect was him to hide away behind his social anxiety. Behind the excuse he doesn’t know how to act around others, that he doesn't know how to express his feelings properly.

Instead, he braves on — the only time finally does — and associates to the enemy.

~ ~ ~ a/n: I'm a bit of a perfectionist and this is actually killing me. But it's the middle of the night and I'm kinda sick. Whatever mistake I made is my own and will be gone soon. have a good night. enjoy your day. please forgive the delay ;^; it's only the third day damn

[dcbbw]

The Odd Couples

Hi, tumblrs! I’m back with yet another AU of one of my favorite AUs: it’s the DC gang, paired differently.  

(I know I haven’t written anything DC AU-related in a long ass five minutes, and I swear Chapter 6 of the original series is practically ready to post, just needs a deep-dive edit)  

So, this story is the product of two separate ideas: First, what if I hadn’t followed canon/fanon/personal head canons when pairing the couples up/off?  And the second idea comes from the What If episode of Friends where that gang ends up with someone different (Phoebe x Ross, Monica x Joey, Rachel x Chandler).  

Side note: Using throwback DC crew (Liam, Riley, Max, Leo, Liv, Drake, Madeleine, and Penelope). Also, check out the link to Leo’s shirt (if you make it that far). It’s the Leo-est shirt ever IMHO) 

Side Note 2: Mixing the pairings up means I have/will be writing pairings that others write/have written and are generally associated with said writer(s). While I am fully aware that no one owns ships, I realize this is a fandom and strive to be mindful of those who write rareships and respect their pairings.  

This is simply my take on my version of these characters when coupled differently in my world. 

To those who read over this story in parcels, pieces, and in whole ...THANK YOU!  

For those who do read this fic, THANK YOU! Your likes, comments, and/or reblogs are appreciated more than you realize. 

 Please excuse any and all typos, missing/extraneous words, and/or grammatical errors. Microsoft Editor rates this piece as 99% error free.  

I’ll be back sooner rather than later with a submission for Hana Lee Appreciation Week, an angsty Driam/Riley love triangle, and some Stormholt.  

Song Inspo: Moments We Live For (Acoustic Version), In Paradise 

Word Count:  4,099

Pairings: SGL x Olivia; Drake x Madeleine; Leo x Riley B; Max x Penelope 

Rating: M for Mature themes 

SGL x Liv 

Liam Rys tipsily followed Olivia Nervakis into the hotel room, hip-checking the door to shut it while Olivia occasionally paused her steps to turn on table lamps. Her black stiletto heels made no noise against the carpet; however, the swish of her highly starched black and white polka-dotted dress sounded scratchy in the silent room.  

“Do you have to turn on every light?” Liam complained as he fastened the deadbolt. 

“It’s not every light, and not our electric bill,” his girlfriend responded tartly as she flipped yet another switch.  

The couple was in Baltimore for the weekend, attending a costume party thrown by Liv’s employer. There had been a buffet; an open bar; and a prize for the best costume, which Liam and Olivia did not win. Carlos Santiago, a member of the Environmental Services team, and his wife and three children came costumed as The Birds and The Bees and won the prize.  

Liam and Liv were The Ricardos: Olivia’s red hair was done up in Lucy’s signature poodle hairstyle, and her dress was a dead ringer for the world’s most famous housewife’s iconic frock. He had wanted to wear a tuxedo and carry a conga drum but settled for Ricky’s purple, polka dot silk smoking jacket with shawl collar, black pants, and black velvet slippers.  

“I can’t believe we didn’t win!” Liam muttered beneath his breath as he came behind Olivia, arms encircling her waist; his palms splayed against her flat, toned stomach. She responded by leaning against him, her back pressed against his chest.  

“Don’t hate!” she admonished. “With those Korean features and Boston accent, no way were you a convincing Cuban band leader. Besides, you have to admit Carlos had a pretty creative idea.” 

“Not more creative than my SOCK GAME! I mean, Liv … you gotta admit, it’s damn good tonight!” 

He was wearing black, knee-length socks with red hearts inscribed with “I Love Lucy” scattered all over. Olivia rolled her eyes in exasperation at the mention of his sock game. 

This man and his socks! Liam thought his sock game could cure cancer and bring about world peace. 

 “You’re sock game is great as it always is, darling. But it was a costume contest,” Olivia placated in a soothing tone as his fingers began removing bobby pins from her hair.  

She spun around, facing her boyfriend as her hair fell in soft curls that framed her face. Her green eyes twinkled as she pressed a quick kiss against his lips.  

“You big, spoiled baby,” she teased. “Wanna smoke, take the edge off? I brought a couple of blunts along.” 

He quickly shook his head. “No way am I going to be in BALTIMORE off some loud.” 

Olivia grabbed the lapels of Liam’s smoking jacket, pulling him closer to her. The tip of her tongue swiped his lower lip. “Makes sense,” she agreed. 

Liam pressed his palms against her ass cheeks; he sang softly in her ear as he swayed his hips against hers.  

And life is heaven, you see  'Cause I love Lucy, yes  I love Lucy  And Lucy  Loves me! 

“My name’s Liv”, Olivia corrected with a giggle as she gently wriggled out of Liam’s embrace. “C’mon, let’s get ready for bed,” she urged as she headed for the bathroom.  

Liam stuck out his tongue at her retreating back before glancing around the room. It was a typical hotel room, nothing really standing out or making it different from any other room. 

The door that led to the balcony was all glass with a brass doorknob; the hotel promised a 360◦ view of the city’s famed Harbor from the patio. The couple planned to have breakfast there in the morning. 

There was a workstation; a large, wall-mounted television; coffee maker and microwave; and the bed: queen-sized, four-poster, and centered against the back wall.  

His eyes widened when he saw the wall to the side of the bed. It was covered floor to ceiling, and side to side with a … mirror.  

Well, that was different.  

Liam approached the bed, kicking off his slippers as he went; he stared curiously at his reflection before climbing atop the bed and resting on his haunches. He then lay on his back, turning his head to continue staring at his reflection.  

He impatiently pushed his hair off his forehead before rolling over onto his stomach; pressing his palms against the bedcovers, Liam pushed himself up with his arms, still watching himself. He imagined Liv beneath him, her pale legs scissored across his back as they watched themselves. 

This could be fun.  

“LIVVY!” he yelled excitedly over the sound of water running in the sink. “There’s a MIRROR! On the WALL! By the BED!” 

The water turned off; Olivia sauntered into the room; her face was scrubbed clean of makeup, damp ends of her hair curling, and wearing a red lace bra with matching panties. A sultry smirk curved her lips.  

 Liam caught sight of her in the mirror’s reflection, and visibly gulped. Liv only wore matching underwear when they were going to have sex.  

“Ai yi yi yi”, he muttered as he bounded off the bed and hastily divested himself of the smoking jacket.  

Olivia was now standing directly in front of Liam; after guiding him to the other side of the bed, directly against the wall so he could see them both in the mirror, her red-tipped fingernails trailed a path from his throat to his belt buckle before unfastening the belt. She slid to her knees, pulling the pants zipper down with her teeth. Her eyes looked up at Liam.  

“Care to hear me do some ‘splaining?” she purred as her hand reached inside the opening and pulled his cock out.  

Liam never answered; he was too busy staring at Liv’s reflection as her mouth swallowed his manhood. 

Drake x Madeleine 

“Open your mouth, and stick out your tongue,” Madeleine demanded.  

Drake’s chocolate brown eyes stared up at her before raking over her body, his gaze settling on her chest. “Take off your shirt,” he countered.  

Madeleine exhaled a frustrated sigh that fluttered her bangs as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Damnit, Drake! You’re sick, and I need to take your temperature to make sure the meds are working.” 

Quickly covering his mouth, Drake Walker let out a series of deep, wet coughs that rattled the congestion in his chest.  

“They aren't”, he rasped as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “Tits would help. For sure.” 

With a horrified look, Madeleine hastily grabbed and thrusted a bottle of hand sanitizer in his face. “WIPE!” 

Rolling his eyes, Drake took the bottle; he then complied with his girlfriend’s first request. He slathered the disinfectant over his hands while Madeleine inserted a thermometer under his tongue.  

His temperature was 102◦; two degrees lower than it had been three hours ago. Uneasy relief washed over Madeleine’s features.  

“You should take the meds on a full stomach. You hungry?” 

Drake turned onto his side, adjusting the pillows beneath his head as he did so. “Not really, but we both know you’re gonna harp on it until I give in. I think I have some canned soup in one of the kitchen cabinets.” 

Madeleine nodded absently as she stepped into the bathroom to run the instrument under hot water in an attempt to kill the cooties her boyfriend more than likely transferred onto it. She heard Drake’s question when she turned the water off. 

“When are you giving up that broom closet you’re living in to move in with me?” 

“Don’t start,” Madeleine warned with a shake of her head as she re-entered the bedroom.  

“Start what? You’re paying $1300 a month to RENT A ROOM! You could move in here with me and pay HALF that and it would be a whole ass apartment! You could start saving, pay down that credit card debt of yours …” 

“I prefer to have my own, Drake!” 

Madeleine’s boyfriend rolled his eyes. “You HAVE your own RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW!  Clothes! Shoes! Makeup! Oat milk! And if we’re talking preferences, I prefer to wake up with you in my bed every morning. I prefer to glare and glower at you from across the room when we argue instead of sitting on the phone in awkward silence. I prefer to not have to wait for make-up sex!” 

Madeleine shifted uncomfortably, scuffing the toe of her sneaker against the carpet. Her green eyes peeked up to sneak a glance at Drake, whose bleary eyes stared at her with a mixture of frustration and hopefulness. His fingers idly played in his chest hair. 

“Why won’t you just accept this greatness?” he huffed accusingly.  

Madeleine rolled her eyes in a here we go again way. 

She and Drake were in love with each other. They were the odd couple of the group: The WASP and the Blue-Collar Worker, but they fit each other like a glove. Most of the time.  

Cohabitation should have been the next logical step in their relationship. 

Madeleine found it nice to come to his U Street apartment after work and find him cooking them dinner while she mixed killer cocktails to help them unwind from their day.  

Or for her to be the first one awake and cook them breakfast, making sure to prepare the thick-cut bacon he liked, and brew the dark-roast coffee that was his favorite before sharing morning-breath kisses. 

Drake making sure Madeleine had the apricot and cream body wash that cost a small fortune, and high thread count Egyptian cotton towels she insisted upon for her showers. 

While their relationship was highly sexual, it was not sexually based. There were debates and discussions covering a gambit from international events and politics to cooking meats with mustard. The only thing they could never agree on was music: Madeleine was a Swiftie, and Drake was 70s rock and country. They shared a love of exercise and the outdoors; weekends usually found them taking day trips to Shenandoah to hike the trails, snacking on the beef jerky Drake loved and Madeleine tolerated. 

But people broke up all the time … over the most minute and ridiculous things. And Madeleine knew she could be an anal-retentive pill most of the time. She wasn’t going to be heartbroken and house hunting if things went south with Drake.  

Madeleine had been instilled from an early age that God blessed the child that had their own. 

“I’m not going to be that chick if we don’t work out," she stated in a small but firm voice as she sat at the foot of the bed; close enough to show support and comfort, far enough away to maybe being in a germ-free zone.  

“You’re saying that after I just asked you to move in with me for the 100th time?” Drake huffed before another coughing fit overtook him.  

While Drake hacked up a lung, Madeleine looked around the bedroom, wondering if he had any masks around. The couple locked eyes briefly, chocolate fastened on emerald. 

 “You could dump me at Target or something!” she countered as she alternated between awkwardly patting his back and scooting further away from him. 

When the coughing subsided, Drake pointed to the nightstand on Madeleine’s side of the bed.  

“Masks. Bottom drawer.” 

Drake knew her. 

“As for dumping you, you don’t shop at Target; it’d have to be Macy’s.” 

So well.  

Leo x Riley B. 

Leo Rys hefted an oversized, too-full sriracha red snapper taco in both hands before greedily biting into it. He let out a low grunt of satisfaction as flavors and spices exploded over his tongue and crumbles of taco shell fell onto his plate.  

Saturday afternoons couldn’t get much better than this: wearing his most comfortable shirt; hanging with his girlfriend Riley Brooks, who was his favorite person in the world; and lunch at his new favorite eatery, Tia Maria Tacos. Bonus: they had scored an upstairs window booth that overlooked the Potomac River. 

Normally for the pair, Saturdays were for sleeping in and being lazy; 24 hours of partial nudity and horizontal positions suited them just fine after clocking out of work on a Friday afternoon. Especially if they had worked a full week.  

But Riley had been in a funk lately; she had been to five job interviews over the past month; good interviews, where she had been a top-two contender. However, that hadn’t been good enough. Riley had been passed over every time, for each job.  

Requests for feedback had not been helpful; hiring managers told her they couldn’t go wrong regardless of who they chose for the position. Riley’s ego was bruised, her esteem low. Despite her having a job that she had worked for the past 10 years ... a job she did damn well ... she was now comparing herself to Penelope, for Chrissakes.  

Leo knew he had to do something, so he planned Date Day.  

They began at Lincoln’s Waffle House for breakfast followed by a couples’ massage in Cleveland Park. Riley wanted to visit a tarot shop; Leo was agreeable. They both got readings, and she purchased a deck of tarot cards along with a strand of chakra beads.  

From there they went to Georgetown, navigating the crowds and perusing shops. A French bakery was offering a European tea meal; Riley looked at Leo with hopeful eyes that quickly filled with dismay at his emphatic refusal. An hour later, laden with bags from a vintage clothing shop, a sex store, and a spice-filled storefront, they decided they were hungry; Leo suggested tacos.  

He took a long swallow from his bottle of beer, his gaze fixed on Riley who had a plate filled key lime shrimp, Korean BBQ, and spicy chicken tacos, along with a serving of nacho fries. She felt his gaze and looked up to smile at him before taking a healthy bite of the shrimp taco. 

Her eyes widened with surprise before closing in bliss. 

“Hmmmmmm, this is soooooo good, Leo! I mean, it ain’t Chinese food but still like, hella good! Thank you for suggesting this place!” she said around a mouthful of food.  

“Anytime, boo,” he replied with a wink as he reached into her plate for fries covered in nacho cheese and seasoned ground beef.  

“And thank you for cheering me up today. It’s the reminder I needed that the Universe is just doing what it does, and all those hiring managers are just bitches and heifers.” 

Leo dragged his fork through seasoned beans and rice. “They weren’t the jobs for you,” he assured her.  “YOU are smart, funny, kind, and the greatest asset any person or job can have, and the right organization will recognize that. Not to mention you’re fucking gorgeous, and do you have any idea how hot you are?” 

Riley bit into the spicy chicken taco, and quickly took a sip of her Sierra Mist with lemon. She nodded at Leo. “How hot I am? Yeah, I know ...  and the answer is not very.” 

Leo chuckled as he shook his head. This woman.  

He and Riley were the couple that were never supposed to be. Both had had extremely bad luck with love, resulting in deeply rooted trust issues; the issues were more prevalent on Riley’s end than Leo’s.  

They were both ambiverts, which loosely translated meant that there was no guarantee that plans made at 10am would still be in effect at 5pm. And you couldn’t be angry about it. 

Physically, neither was the other’s type. Leo was a touch too lanky and fit for the buxom Riley; for Leo, Riley had a few too many inches in height, and was a tad curvier than he was used to. They met via Tinder, and it was supposed to be a one-night stand. 

But their chemistry was off the charts.  

But the sex was too good.  

But their pillow talk left them curious to know more about each other while fully clothed.  

Long story short … she kept him wild, and he kept her safe.  

Before Leo could reassure his girlfriend that she was indeed VERY hot, her eyes trained on someone at a table near the back wall; they narrowed in anger as she tossed her food onto her plate while muttering, “What the actual FUCK?” 

Leo looked around puzzled, wondering WHO happened. Because with Riley, it was never a what.  If he could change two things about his woman, it would be her incredible grudge-holding talents and her penchant for public confrontation.  

Only one table in the far corner was occupied.  A Latina, facing them, was excitedly showing off one of her purchases to her male companion; Leo squinted, determining that the girl was proudly displaying a pair of earrings.  

He swung back around, a look of confusion on his face. “Who are we hating on here?” 

Riley dramatically pointed her index finger at the Latina. “HER! She told me I was a SHOO-IN for that freaking job!! AND THEN WENT WITH SOMEONE ELSE!” 

Leo looked even more confused. “Which job? There were five of them!” 

Riley didn’t answer. She was too busy scowling at the woman across the room while alternating between shaking her fist and making symbols with her fingers.  

“Babe, what are you doing?”  

“Throwing gang signs!” 

“DC DOESN’T HAVE GANGS!” Leo argued. 

“IT DOES NOW!!” 

So much for a peaceful outing and letting the Universe do its thing. 

Maxwell x Penelope 

 “I cannot believe you right now, Pen!” Maxwell Beaumont seethed as he rubbed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes.  

The Communications and Marketing Director inhaled and exhaled deeply, slowly. It was rare that anyone or anything upset Maxwell, much less angered him; but if anyone could knock him off his equilibrium, for certain it was his girlfriend, Penelope.  

His girlfriend stared at him with her wide, pansy-blue eyes before quickly licking her pink-glossed lips. She ran slender, pale fingers through her black hair, then tightened the belt of her pink silk robe. Penelope outstretched her arm, her fingertips grazing the fabric of her boyfriend’s shirt; at his look of frustrated rage, she quickly pulled her hand back.   

“Max,” she began in her breathy voice, “I know you’re upset with me, but I HAD to leave that godawful job! The commute sucked and who knew data entry was so … exacting? It’s a miracle I lasted as long as I did!” 

By the time she finished her explanation, her hands were gesticulating wildly about, and her tone of voice had become a shriek.  

Maxwell turned his back on Penelope to go into their kitchen; still hot Italian food sat on the stove, wrapped in plastic bags. He hollered at her while he began unpacking what was supposed to be a celebratory dinner for Penelope’s new job.  

“IT WAS A TELEWORK POSITION! That you were LATE for BOTH DAYS you worked! And it was MAIL MERGE, NOT DATA ENTRY!” He turned to glare daggers at her. “I don’t know what’s worse, the fact you put forth entirely ZERO effort into at least TRYING to become a member of the working class, or that you lied to me the entire week about still having the damn job!” 

An angry retort sprang to her lips; Penelope debated continuing the argument but thought better of it.  She had known the lie would catch up with her, but she had been hoping it would have been after the dinner. Carmine’s had the most amazing food, and Penelope was in love with their broiled Lobster Oreganata, Porterhouse Pizzaiola, and pasta with meatballs and sausage.  

With Maxwell’s back facing her, Penelope quietly tiptoed into the kitchen, trying to neither be seen nor heard. She peered over her potentially ex-boyfriend's shoulder, salivating at the sight and smells of containers filled with pastas, meats, and sauces.  

Maxwell felt his girlfriend’s eyes on him and exhaled a silent breath. He should have known from their first meeting that Penelope was not relationship material.  

They met at 9:30am on the elevator at the office building Max worked in; it was Penelope’s first day at a company occupying the entire third floor. At 11am, Max was back on the elevator hellbent on a Starbucks run; the elevator stopped at the third floor and Penelope entered, her blue eyes filled with tears.  

She had been let go from her new job in less than 90 minutes. 

Max was a sucker for a damsel in distress. He dried Penelope’s tears, treated her to a coffee, and offered to take her out on a date. That had been over two years ago, and if the woman had worked a cumulative 40-hour work week since, he knew nothing about it.  

He had asked the gang if their companies were hiring; Liam laughed so hard, his drink came out of his nose. Riley, who worked with Max, rolled her eyes as she muttered, “You already know.” Everyone else shook their heads vigorously. 

For a brief period, he had even let her be a stay-at-home girlfriend, but that definitely didn’t work out; Penelope couldn’t cook and had no concept of housekeeping. He had to pull from his savings to replace his wardrobe when she tossed his lights, darks and half a bottle of bleach into the washing machine. She was asleep when he left for work, and asleep when he returned home.  

Irresponsible was too inadequate of a word to describe his girlfriend. She was a money pit in addition to being careless, thoughtless, and an emotional vampire. 

But Maxwell Beaumont loved Penelope Ebrim. She could be sweet, buying him small gifts that brought a smile to his face. She mixed mean cocktails, had a killer sense of humor, and was a terrific dancer. She just needed to find her way.  

Apparently, God had chosen Max to help her do so.  

“Pen, you have GOT to find and keep a job!” Max stated in a firm tone that brooked no argument as he prepared her a plate of lobster, pasta with garlic and oil, and shrimp parmigiana.  

When Penelope saw Maxwell piling a plate with Italian yumminess, she had moved to the cabinets to grab a bottle of wine and two glasses. She was setting them on the dinette table as she debated coming clean in her reply. 

“I may have found something; I’m supposed to have an interview Monday.” 

Max set the serving spoon down as be swung his head to look at his girlfriend in surprise. “Why didn’t you tell me this?” 

“I was waiting until afterwards so I could surprise you!” Penelope crowed happily.  

“Well, where? With who?” Max’s smile covered his entire face as he resumed plating food. 

Maybe things were looking up.  

Penelope expertly removed the wine bottle’s cork and began pouring sparkling merlot into the glasses.  

“The interview is at The Greene Turtle, and it’s with a temp agency called Daddy’s Little Girl. Basically, I would be having lunches and meetings at hotels with older men for an hourly rate.” 

Maxwell had plates in both hands, which he slowly lowered onto the kitchen counter; his every movement displayed his disbelief. There was no way his girlfriend had applied for a job as an escort.  

No.Way.  

“You’re going to be a prostitute?” he choked out.  

Penelope had just taken her seat. She looked up at Maxwell in horror at his words.  

“NO!! Why would you say THAT?  How could you even THINK THAT of me??’ It’s like lunch meetings or something!” 

“NAKED LUNCH! Pen, NO ONE is paying a woman … a PRETTY WOMAN … to just “have lunch”!! And meetings in HOTEL ROOMS? What the ACTUAL fuck?” 

“It’s working lunches, sometimes dinners, with out-of-town business entrepreneurs who need someone to take dictation!” 

Max’s face dropped into his open palm.  

“The going rate is $150 an hour! I was told with my looks and appearance, I could be in huge demand,” Penelope argued.  

“WHEN DID THEY SEE YOU?” Max yelled as he threateningly shook a plastic spatula in Penelope’s direction. 

“I saw the ad on Craigslist and called the number in the listing, then did a Zoom with the manager.” 

Maxwell Beaumont stared at his girlfriend for a long, silent moment before exiting the kitchen and heading for their bedroom.  

“MAX! Where are you going??” 

“To have a talk with God.” 

Penelope stared at his retreating back with a furrowed brow before shrugging and rising to fetch her dinner.  

“Tell Him I said heyyyy.” 

Max’s response was to slam the bedroom door. 

Tagging: @ao719 @jared2612 @marietrinmimi @indiacater @kingliam2019 @bebepac @mom2000aggie @liamxs-world @liamrhysstalker2020 @twinkleallnight @umccall71 @superharriet @busywoman @beezm @gabesmommie1130 @tessa-liam @gardeningourmet @mainstreetreader @angelasscribbles @emkay512 @princessleac1 @charlotteg234 @alj4890 @lovingchoices14 @lady-calypso @walkerdrakewalker @queenjilian @kristinamae093 @choicesficwriterscreations

[lovifie]

Okay you’ll have to excuse me- I kinda got carried away 🥺- i was just kinda bored and thought it was a cute prompt-I think you could put this together so much better, but this is a rough outline of what I was trying to write

:Biker Simon and car girl reader:

Y/n goes to many car meets, she has an absolutely amazing looking car, and a reputation to go with it- it’s not all just a good exhaust job and an amazing wrap on the car it’s what her car actually does, she’s won many races and along with that *lots of money*- which she happily spends on new parts or on herself for some new heels and or a new set of nails

—

But this particular meet was different, it was absolutely boring her, she won every race (like always) but there were barely any cute guys to meet. The cars were… okay, it was just average people and average *cars*-an average car meet

Until…

Simon came along. As you pulled up to the starting line for yet another drag race(and again most likely going to win) you her loud bangs, almost like gunshots-(I’m not going to try to make motorcycle sounds 😭)- it’s sounds like the engine itself is whining, and the all of a sudden deep growling is heard next to your car.

You roll your window down and see the biker, who is Simon. After rolling down your window you both just look at each other.

You notice his all black outfit, he’s wearing black tactical boots and pants, and a black hoodie, with some motorcycle brand-(I’m not going to start a war about brands)- his helmet has a matte black color with a red visor; which accents his bike, which again is a mix of different cut angles and shapes, colored with red, black and white.

He looks at your car, the dark windows tint, he sees your license plate which says “ GHOST”-(yes I did that on purpose 🙃)and the outline of the license plate, which is bedazzled in diamonds. Your car is ___.( whatever you want it to be, preferably red and black bc those are my fav colors but you do you boo❤️), he hears the deep growl of the car idling next to him.

After the minute or so of just looking at one another and each others ride you say something…

“This is a drag race babe not a cycling marathon”

He responds with confidence, he opens his visor and hits you with a smooth wink before saying - (idk what I could put, so up to you)

After some snarky back and forth comments about each others ride you both make a bet-

if Simon wins he gets your #, a date, a night with you-(again depends on you), if you win you get to (idk 🥲sorry)

In the end, after you both settle on a deal you both get to the starting line. The girl in the middle of the both of you at the starting line puts the flag up,you roll up the window and he shuts his visor, like an instinct both of you rev your engines, both sounding similar and very different- his with a high pitch screams yours with a loud growl- she announces very loudly “are you ready!” And the crowd surrounding the meet cheers, excited for this interesting match up between the two of you. As soon as she puts the flag down, the two of you are off neck and neck but who will win…

( tried to base this off the first fast and furious scene bc why not)

AGAIN SORRY THIS IS SO LONG- Im sorry 🥺but pls look at it

First of all; DON'T APOLOGISE YOU LOVELY ANON!! ❤️❤️ Really, feel free to talk to me as much as you want I have loved to read your prompt.

Second, I have been wanting to write about biker Simon and car fan reader for a bit now! So you told me at the perfect time, love! Thank you!!! 🩷🩷

I also loved the way you wrote it, even if it was a rough draft you had me hanging on it love!

I'll definitely use your prompt in the future, so if you want me to tag you feel free to drop another ask (I won't post it if you don't want to, don't worry) or if you want you can do the form linked on my masterlist to get added to the taglist and I'll add you. Whatever is comfortable for you love! ❤️

[moody4world]

Got my twin with me like the parent trap (pt.1)

A/N: This is the first part of the series im writing based off of the movie, parent trap!! I’ve had this idea for months now and i’m so excited to finally have the first part done. its longer than anything i’ve written and i’m very proud of it so i hope you guys enjoy it too!🤍 if you guys have any questions feel free to send them in and i will gladly answer.

A big shout out to the anon that sent me the link for the movie🫶🏾

The reader will have a british accent in the fic for the sake of the storyline but no ethnicity or physical feature is really described except for maybe curly hair but everyone can read this.

Andy is Andre’s nickname

y/ln= your last name

You never thought that you’d be having the wedding of your dreams with the love of your life at the young age of 23. You had met Urban since very young and the two of you have been inseparable since. Your wedding was huge, beautiful decorations all over the cruise ship’s ball room. Yes cruise ship. You were never one to brag but you could admit that you came from a quite rich family. Every expense of your huge beautiful wedding was courtesy of your generous parents who always supported your relationship. Everything was wonderful but as they say. Everything must come to an end. And so it did.

16 years later

The loud chatter of young boys fills the camp ground as parents drop their kids off for summer camp. Big yellow school busses full of loud teenage boys. Hayden walked towards where the baggages have all been piled. He tries to pull his out but has no luck when more baggages are dumped on top. A shorter guy with dark brown short hair approaches him and tries to help but still no luck. “First year?” He asks Hayden. “How could you tell?” “You’re dressed different than most of us.” “Oh..i always dress like this. Kinda get it from my dad.” “Its cool. i like the hat by the way“ “Thanks” As they’re talking, a chubby guy about the same height as Hayden walks over and easily pulls his own handbag out of the tall pile. Hayden decides to call him over for some help and he gets his baggage as well. “Attention campers! Hayden Wyatt, Ivan Torres and Mikey Wu, the bear cabin.” “Oh that’s me.” Hayden says. To his surprise the two boys were in the same cabin as him. They took off to their assigned cabin for the next eight weeks ready to settle in.

“Oh come on Martin don’t cry, it’s only eight weeks i’ll be back home before we know it.” “You’re right, it’s just that i’ll miss you dearly. Remember if you wan’t to come home i’m only a phone call away.��� “I know Martin, don’t worry i’ll miss you guys too.” The two of them do their special handshake and give each other a goodbye hug. Andrew sighs as he watches Martin gets back into the limo. “Chauffeur, to the airport!”

“Oh come on Martin don’t cry, it’s only eight weeks i’ll be back home before we know it.” “You’re right, it’s just that i’ll miss you dearly. Remember if you wan’t to come home i’m only a phone call away.” “I know Martin, don’t worry i’ll miss you guys too.” The two of them do their special handshake and give each other a goodbye hug. Andrew sighs as he watches Martin gets back into the limo. “Chauffeur, to the airport!”

Lunch time rolls around and the cafeteria is full of loud chatters from the boys. Hayden is standing at the right side of the fruit buffet table meanwhile Andre is on the left. In between them stood mr. Marvey, the head counselor of the camp. He was putting some orange slices on his plate and he turns to Hayden offering him some. “Would you like some orange slices buddy?” to which Hayden replies “Oh no thanks Marvey i’m allergic” “Oh okay.” Marvey decides to ask the boy on his left while still looking down. “How about you, would you like some orange slices?” Andre answers “Oh no thanks Marvey i’m allergic.” “Oh i know you just told-“ Marvey looks up noticing that the boy he just spoke to was now on his left. “me over here…how did you get on this side so fast? you know what, excuse your old man, its been alot of years working at this camp” Andre gives him an awkward smile and walks away.

After lunch the boys were quickly allowed to go participate in whichever one of the activities they wished. Hayden was doing very well at fencing. He was winning round after round. “Looks like we have our remaining champion, Hayden Wyatt!!” the counselor announces. “Anybody else wanna test their luck?” he asks. Andre and his friends had just came from their intense game of tennis and he decided why not give it a go. “I’ll take a whack at it.” He says. “Okay! looks like we’ve got ourselves a challenger.” The two boys put their masks on while facing away from each other. Once their masks are on they take position and salute each other.

The counselor blows his whistle and yells “Allez!” indicating the start of the match. It’s intense and everyone watching was invested. At one point Hayden almost got Andre but he was quick enough to dodge it smoothly. The clinging of the épéés against each other was fast and constant until Andre has Hayden cornered on a small balcony of a nearby cabin with nowhere to go. Hayden takes a step back when Andre tries to touch him with the point of his épéé causing him to fall backwards into a tub of water. Andre immediately sticks his hand out offering Hayden his help. “Oh shoot, here, let me help you.” “No, let me help YOU.” Hayden grabs his hand and pulls him into the the large water tub with him.

They step out keeping their backs faced towards eachother. “Alright everyone looks like we have a new winner, Andre Y/ln!!” the counselor announces.“Come on guys, make up. It was a fair and square game.” They both sigh in annoyance and turn around. The two boys let out a synchronized gasp when they finally face each other. Hayden feels like he’s looking into a mirror and vice versa. This boy who he has never met before happens to look exactly like him. Same eyes, same nose, same lips. Different haircut and accessories. They shake hands confusingly and let go immediately. The group of campers dispersed but Andy’s friends come stand next to him hurriedly.

“Why is everyone staring?” Hayden asks. “Dont you see it?” “See what?” he says again acting clueless. “The resemblance between us!” “The resemblance? between you and me?” Andy nods “Hmm i don’t really see it, your eyes seem closer together than mine and..your ears..well i hope you can still grow into them.” “Who do you think you are?” One of Andys friends asks. “No its fine, clearly i was raised with manners and good sportsmanship unlike this guy.” Hayden steps up to Andy getting defensive and Andy puffs his chest out ready to fight back. “Woah woah woah boys break it up, come on. Hayden, Andy. I mean Andy. Hayden. I mean Andy? Oh jesus” the counselor could not tell the two apart.

Later that night, Andy’s group cabin was packed. Everyone surrounded the small table watching him beat everyone that went up against him in a game of cards. Hayden and his group walks in and decides to challenge him. “I’ll take a whack at it” he says imitating Andre.

“Loser has to jump in the lake.” Hayden proposes.

“Fine by me.” “Actually no, skinny dip in the lake.” “Also fine by me because im gonna win.” Andre says. He’s confident until he sees Haydens smirk once he put his cards down first. He had lost and now he had to skinny dip in the freezing cold lake. He’s never done something like this before. He strips and walks quickly across the deck to get to the lake. He takes a deep breath to prepare himself and takes a dive. Once he comes back up all he could see was the last few of the boys running away. And by the time he got out all that was left of his clothes were his sneakers. his underwear, his t-shirt, his pajama pants, all gone. He takes a deep breath to calm his nerves. “Fine. Two can play this game. Hayden wyatt.” He says while his teeth were chattering from the cold.

The next morning Hayden and his friends are walking back to their cabin after playing some football. “Bro that match was so good their keeper was ass. We scored so easy on them.” “Yeah but honestly you’re a beast at football man you gotta teach me that one trick you did.” “Sure man i’ll teach you but i’m so tired right now i’m gonna take a nap till lunch time.” Mikey stops abruptly in shock causing hayden and Ivan to stop as well. They look at him confused and he goes “I dont think thats possible man.” Hayden looks at Mikey questioningly “Why not?” He points at their cabin and Hayden is more than surprised to see all three of their beds, night tables and bags on the roof. And to top it all off a british flag flapping in the wind. All that Hayden could say was “No way”

That same night Hayden and his two friends were ready to get revenge. They took their flashlights and a bags full of the materials necessary to carry out their prank perfectly. Multiple strings connected all throughout the cabin, whipped cream painted over one of Andre’s friends with a ginger bread man design. The other friend they covered in honey and Andy himself had a bunch of honey on the floor near his bed and balloons filled with water ready to drop on him as soon as he stepped on a string near his bed.

The next morning Andy wakes up in confusion and alarmed. He sits up immediately in bed, careful not to touch anything. “What the fuck” his roommates however were not able to be as calm as him and both screamed much louder “Bro what the hell is this shit” said the one covered in sticky honey. “Who the hell did this?” asks the one covered in whipped cream. Andy tries to step out of bed carefully but because he was trying to avoid stepping in honey he stepped on the forbidden string. Three small water filled balloons drop down but he manages to dodge each one. “Ha! missed me dumbass.”

Or so he thought… less than 5 seconds later a giant water balloon comes straight down onto him. Wetting his pajamas and everything close to him. He was so frustrated and annoyed. But most importantly he was ready to get back at Hayden more than ever.

Meanwhile Andy and his roommates’ bloods were boiling. Hayden and his friends were watching through the window trying to laugh as quietly as possible as their prank played out exactly how they wanted. Right as their high-fiving each other the head counselor walks by with his giant microphone. “Goodmorning boys.” “Goodmorning Marvey” they reply in unison until realization hits them like a brick. “MARVEY?!” they say all scared. Mr. Marvey raises his microphone and announces that they will be doing a surprise inspection on all cabins.

And just for Haydens luck, the pranked cabin was up first. He runs to the door blocking it from Marvey’s view. “Marvey i don’t think you should go in there sir. One of the guys got sick and it’s reaally and i mean really disgusting in there, trust me.” he tries to say as convincing as possible. “Oh well if one of the guys are sick then i should definitely go in there and check on him Hayden.” “No you can’t. He’s really really contagious.” Andre watches amusingly through the window as Hayden is struggling to change mr Marvey’s mind. So ofcourse he decides to help Hayden out. Not.

“Actually mr Marvey we’re all perfectly fine in here. Unless Hayden Wyatt knows something we dont. Open the door and come see for yourself Marvey.” And that he does. Marvey tells Hayden to step aside and he opens the cabin door. Before he was able to set one foot in the cabin a bucket full of chocolate came pouring down straight onto him. He yells in disgust and shock. The younger counselor tries to push him out of the way but this only made it worse. He slipped into the cabin, sliding through the honey and the web of strings until the opposite end of the room and the younger counselor was quick to meet the same predicament. The counselor was trying to regain his footing but the floor was too slippery. He had the brilliant idea to hold on to a doll that was hanging on one of the strings.

This causes Hayden to scream “NO” but it was much too late. The fan starts to spin and a bunch of white feathers come flowing down. Sticking everywhere and i mean everywhere. Hayden felt extremely nervous about the consequences he would have to deal with. “I told you it was a mess in here” he says nervously as the counselors look at him. Andy looks over to the counselors angrily saying “He should know, he did it”

Mr. Marvey angrily points at the two boys “YOU and YOU pack your bags right now!”

After three hours of constant cleaning every camper was told to march along to the isolation cabins. By now everyone had heard about what happened in the cabin. During the march all you could hear were the synchronized stomps and chatters. Once they reached the cabins, Marvey once again picked up his microphone. “The rest of you, get back to your activities.” All the boys cheered and wooed and wasted no time getting back to what they were previously up to. Once the cheering calmed down Marvey turned to the two boys. “The two of you, the isolation cabin.”

The boys stood there looking at Marvey expecting him to say something else. “NOW” he says unexpectedly and both the boys and the younger counselor flinch in surprise while Andre and Hayden hurry to the cabin.

Hayden and Andre make a deal to simply stay out of each other’s way. Later that night Hayden was having a hard time falling asleep because the lights were on. Why doesn’t he just turn them off, you ask? Well Andre was journaling and there was no bedside lamp for him to use. Hayden was fed up and flipped the light switch on his side of the room, causing the cabin to go completely dark. Andre immediately flips the switch on his side turning the light back on. They go back and forth with the light until Hayden gives up, pushing his cover over his head and tries to fall asleep.

The next morning Andre was playing with his deck of cards while Hayden was sticking up posters of his favorite designers’ pieces, dogs he found cute and his favorite football players. A huge gust of wind unexpectedly rose causing a bunch of his posters and photos to fly off of the wall and onto the cabin floor. He rushes to close the window but quickly notices that he needs help. Andre runs to the window helping him and together they manage to close it.

They sit down together collecting the photos and posters off of the floor. Until a few photos caught Andres attention. The first photo had a beautiful white building with teal green ceilings, it almost looked like a castle of some sort. Andre had never seen it before. “What is this place?” He turns the picture to Hayden when he asks. “Oh thats churchill downs. Its where the annual kentucky derby takes place.” “What exactly is the kentucky derby? i’ve never been there before.” Hayden looks at Andre in shock. “I don’t know if i should be offended right now or honored that i get to explain this to you. But the derby is basically a horse race that people bet money on. And kentucky is where i grew up.” He looks over and coincidentally finds a photo of the house he grew up in. “Oh here’s a photo of the house actually. Pretty cool huh?”

Andre really does find the house pretty cool. It wasn’t bigger than his ,not that it mattered but it seemed nice and homey. The other one that caught his attention was a photo of a man with long hair photographing some type of artist during a performance with a very large crowd. “Who’s this?” “Oh thats my dad taking a photo of my uncle while he’s performing. He didn’t know i was taking his picture until after the show” Hayden says with a proud smile on his face “They’re like my best friend, we do everything together.” Hayden grabs another photo, this one was taken by his dad.

“Oh look at this one, its me eating a mcchicken but with barbecue sauce.” He was laughing at his face in the photo and Andre found it hard not to laugh as well. “Thats so weird, i do that too!” He says to Hayden. “Thats so strange, most people think it’s disgusting but i learned it from my dad and now its the only way i eat it.” Andre smiles at the fact that they have that preference in common but he cant help but feel some type of way about the topic. Hayden notices this and tries to include him a bit more. “So uh what’s your dad like? Is he one of those chill ones you can talk about everything to or is he strict and lame? I hate those type of dads.”

Andre looks at him and goes “I don’t have a dad.” He laughs a little and continues “Well obviously i had one at some point but my mom got divorced a long time ago and she never even mentions him at all. Its like he disappeared into thin air.” He shrugs as if it was any other normal conversation. “Scary how nobody stays together anymore.” Hayden says while shaking his head. Andre nods along saying “Tell me about it.” Out of curiosity Hayden decides to ask Andre for his age.

“How old are you by the way?” Andre replies “I’ll be seventeen on october eleventh” This caught Hayden by surprise causing him to choke on his own spit leading him into a coughing fit. He bumps his fist to his chest regaining his breath and replies excitingly “So do I.” to which Andre adds “Really? your birthday is on october eleventh? how weird is that?” and Hayden says “Extremely.”

A small silence reigns in the cabin for a short time before Andre asks Another question. “Hayden?” “Yeah?” “What’s your mother like?” “I haven’t met her, her and my dad split up when i was a baby or maybe even before that. But i do know for sure that she was very pretty.” “How do you know that?” “Well my dad used to have this photo of her in his drawer and he looked at it all the time until he gave it to me to keep.” A lightbulb goes on in Andre’s brain but Hayden seems as clueless as always. “Hayden do you not realize what’s going on?” “No? What’s going on?” “I mean think about it. I only have a Mother and you only have a father.” “You know you can just say mom and dad right?” “Let me finish my sentence please.” “My bad.” “As i was saying. You only have a..dad and I only have a mum.” Hayden rolls his eyes at Andre’s british pronunciation. “You’ve never seen your mum and i’ve never seen my dad.

You have one old picture of your mum and i have one old picture of my dad. But at least yours is probably a whole picture. Mine’s a pathetic ripped half of a photo.Right down the middle too-” Andre’s last sentences makes Hayden’s eyebrows go up and he rushes to his baggage and starts rummaging through it. “What are you digging in there for?” Hayden find the photo of his mom and holds it to his chest. Andre looks at him confused and asks “What is that?” “It’s the photo of my mom… mine is ripped too.” “Right down the middle?” Hayden nods. “Right down the middle.” At that very moment Andre rushes to his drawer grabbing his half of a photo and holds it to his chest like Hayden did.

They stand facing each other. Both holding their half of a picture to their chest. They each take a deep breath and decide to turn the photos towards each other at the count of three. “One” Andre says, taking a step closer towards Hayden. “Two” Hayden continues the countdown taking a step closer towards Andre. “Three” they say in unison turning the photos towards each other. Just as expected they were a perfect match. Neither of them could contain their shock yet also excitement. “Thats my dad.” Hayden says while still in shock. Meanwhile Andre is much more on the excited end of the spectrum. “That’s my mum!” Hayden felt himself tearing up from the huge wave of emotions. He wipes his eyes and points at Andre. “So if your mom is my mom. And my dad is your dad and we’re both born on october eleventh then you and i are like…brothers.” At this point he was smiling so hard he could feel his cheeks starting to hurt. “Like brothers? Hayden we’re twins!”

Andre jumps up and down in excitement, causing a small locket to fall from his pocket. He quickly picks it up holding it tight. “What are you holding?” Hayden asks him. “Its a locket. I’ve had it since i was born. It has an A on it.” “I have the exact same one except mine has an H on it.” They both laugh in disbelief. “Oh my god i’m not an only child, i’m a twin!” Hayden says. “And there’s two of me. I mean us! Its like-“ “Mind boggling.” Andre adds. “Totally!” “Completely!” “Oh my god.” “Oh my god!” They say as they pull each other in for a hug.

They spend that entire night telling each other about their parents. “So tell me, what’s mom like?” “Well she’s a wedding gown designer.” “Really?” “She’s becoming quite famous actually, a princess in Greece just bought one of her gowns.” Andre tells him. “Wow” “You know what’s interesting? Neither of our parents ever got married again. Has dad ever gotten close to marrying?” to which Hayden snorts and says “Never. He always says bitches come and go.” They both laugh a little at that. “Yeah mum has never gotten close either.” The room falls silent as the both of them get comfortable in their bed ready to sleep. That is until Hayden jumps up with a face thats says ‘i am an absolute genius’ and he goes “I have the brilliant most brilliant idea! i’m a total genius!”

He turns to look at his brother. “You want to know dad right?” to which Andre sits up and replies “ Right.” “And i’m dying to know mom. So what i’m thinking is.. don’t freak out okay?” Andre nods. “I think we should switch places!” Andres eyes widen at his brother’s crazy idea but Hayden just keeps going. “When camp is over i’ll go back to London as you and you’ll go back to Louisville as me!” “WHAT?!” “Andre we can pull it off, we’re twins aren’t we?” “Hayden, we’re totally and completely one hundred percent different.” “So? what’s the problem? You can teach me how to be you and i’ll teach you how to be me. Look I can be you already.” Hayden says pulling his long curly hair in a ponytail to make it seem shorter like Hayden’s and says in his best british accent “No it’s fine, clearly i was raised with manners and good sportsmanship unlike this guy.” Andre wouldn’t admit it but that was a quite good impression of him.

“Come on Andy, i gotta meet my ma.” Hayden begs him with a pout trying to win him over. “Okay…the problem is you know, if we switch…sooner or later they’ll have to unswitch us.” To which Hayden adds “And if they do they’ll have to meet again…face to face!” And Andre continues, “After all these years..” He says excitingly. Hayden laughs, proud of his brilliant plan. “Thank you.” He says smugly as they both lay back down in their bed. “Told you i was a total genius.”

[fckwritersblock]

Hi wanted to know if you could do one for all the shelby men and what it would be like to date a black woman.

Love this! This is the first of many of these as I started writing one for Tommy & Michael and I’ll be sure to tag you in the others boo

She Is Pretty

John Shelby x black reader

Description: John find out Isaiah has a sister and suddenly, the thought of having a woman around doesn’t seem so bad.

Warning:  Smut. oral . Minors DO NOT engage 

As usual, I suck at descriptions & it’s not beta’d . I made the reader related to Isaiah since he is already integrated into the show since it was easier to integrate her into the show that way. Not necessarily canon either As I recently we watch season one and two so it fits

You had shown up with Isaiah, after your insistent begging for weeks, he had finally bought you along with him to the races. A place, though he was not necessarily welcomed, but with his status with the Peaky Blinders and Shelby‘s Mike Irenea could do a lot of things a lot of Black people couldn’t. Not only was your brother considered a peaky blinder, but the rest of the shamp Shelby family would be in attendance too. You be lying if you said you weren’t nervous, finally getting to meet them all having heard so much about them - really it was your eavesdropping. You had never officially met any of them before, outside of Tommy. You were 15 when your father went off to war. You hadn’t lived with your father in quite some time, your mother having taking you away when they split. Still, you wrote to both your father and brother often, and you insisted on spending the summers with your father. That all led up to today.

Upon your arrival John couldn’t take his eyes off of you as he noticed your arm linked with Isaiah as the two of you approached Tom. The dress you worn done little to cover the curves he could tell were meant to be hiding and he couldn’t help but let his eyes trace over your figure as he pictured all the things he could do to you.

“Ms. Jesus,” Tommy spoke being the first to notice you in there group that had gathered. “Nice of course you to finally join.”

Ms. Jesus? John frowned. Isaiah has a sister?

“Figure I’d see what all the fuss is about.” You replied with a smile at Tommy who had kissed the side of your head.

Christ. Your voice had John hard as a rock. The beauty that radiated from you was one thing but your voice was without a doubt the Caribbean accent you dorn that was so attractive to him. Course he heard a hint of it from Isaiah, Christ yours was a lot stronger and a lot more prominent and it sounded so incredibly sexy coming from you.

“Thank you for having me Mr Shelby.” You playfully rolled your eyes when he gave you a look. “Tommy.”

“Always welcome. If you’ll excuse me, i trust, your brother and mine to handle introductions while I step away for a bit.” He excused himself after receiving a tap on the shoulder.

As soon as Tommy walked away, John took that as his moment to slither in before anyone else could catch your attention.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.” He tried to inhale discretely, completely captivated by the scent of her perfume. “I’m John.”

You look at his hand as he held it out, smiling at how chivalrous and tame he was attempting to be. A complete contrast to the stories you heard.

“Yes, Mr. Shelby I know. My brother speaks very highly of you and your family. As well as my father.” You placed your smaller hand in his. “Y/n Jesus.”

Bringing you hands to his lips he kissed it, lips lingering on the back of your hand, eyes never leaving yours. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but the way he was staring at you was a alluring. You swallowed trying to collect yourself as a certain warm coursed through your body stemming from the place his lips touched your skin. Slowly he released your hand and you brought it back down to your side.

“Thank you very much for allowing my brother and I to accompany you all today.” You breathed out, keeping the waiver out of your voice. “I know there aren’t many established places that allow us but-“ he scoffed.

“Do I look like a man, who gives a fuck what these people think?”

John knew he couldn’t imagine the things you may have faced, however he did have an inkling of what it was like to be disliked for something you could not change, him being a gypsy himself. Still having seen first hand how black people had been treated for such a thing he knew they didn’t compare. He hated that you could walk into place and be judged for the color of your skin. Without anyone knowing who you were on the inside. And boy did he want to know who you were on the inside.

“No, Mr. Shelby, you don’t.”

“Tell you what love. You need anything, you want anything, you let me know and I’ll get it for you, eh?”

“Come sister, the race is going to begin.” Isaiah interrupted, having seen the interaction between you too.

The last thing he wanted to be a witness to was John talk his way into your pants, older sister or hot.

With a gentle hold of your arm he began to steer you in the directions of where you’d be sitting, introducing you to some of the others as you pass by. Peering over your shoulder you offered John one last glance in a smile.

You weren’t sure how long the races went on for. You were too busy focused on making sure you didn’t get caught staring at John Shelby every opportunity you got the chance. However, the aforementioned had absolutely no problem staring at you as he did so shamelessly. He was John Shelby, after all and when he wanted something he got it, same as any of the other Shelby‘s.

Alas the races were finally over, with Graces Secret coming in first. The rest of the gentleman seem to be celebrating and carrying on loudly as usual as everyone stood in the stables. The only woman present being you, you didn’t want to make too many waves though you enjoyed seeing how excited everyone seemed to be at the moment. However rambunctious the bunch, the energy was simply pure. Blood or not them men surrounding the Shelby Family we were clearly like family to them, and it was refreshing to see.

You stood next to Curly who was tending to the horse as you couldn’t help but marvel at how beautiful it was. You could feel someone approaching and assuming it was Tommy you opened your mouth to congratulate him.

“Congrats again! It really is a lovely horse Tommy.”

“That she is.”You jump at the unfamiliar voice, peering over to see John Shelby standing neck to you an amused look on his face.

“Excuse me, mr Shelby.” You look down feeling heat rise to your cheeks. “ I mistook you for Thomas.”

“ what you wanted it to be my brother? Prefer his company eh?”

You eyed him momentarily before grinning, realizing that he was teasing noticing this smirk on his face.

“ Well that depends.” You challenged.

“On?” He stood up straighter, causally stepping closer to you and you turned to face hun completely.

“You.”

After a pregnant pause he nodded signaling you to go on.

“Well, Mr. Shelby-“

“John.” He corrected.

“John.” You said it slowly as of testing the name out before smiling softly. “Earlier you mentioned if I needed anything i need you get it for me”

“I meant it.” He confirmed and your heart to swelled.

“I did have a question if you don’t mind me asking.” You pressed on, not wanting to lose your nerve. “I was told your children need it looking after. I’m not sure he’ll be here long past the summer but I am available and I’m looking for work if you still needed someone.”

Nervously you bit your lip as John said nothing. The reason being he couldn’t tear his eyes away from that pretty mouth of yours. The one he could envision you doing very bad things with. The one he knew would make the prettiest fucking noises. The on he wanted to hear screaming his name.

“So, do you?” You repeated, effectively snapping John out of his trance.

“Hmm?”

“Still need someone?”

And that is how you ended up being the nanny for John Shelby‘s children. They weren’t bad, they needed structure, sure, but if anything in the children but will wait extremely well mannered. Well, the two oldest. The two youngest, the babes, were quite the handful initially. All in all, you had no trouble with them at all. Nothing out of the norm. He paid you handsomely. It did however surprise John how quickly the children had taken to you and you got them on a regular routine from bedtime from mornings to lessons to bedtime. This must’ve been that motherly and womanly touch Polly kept going on about. What he and his children have been missing and that would quickly turn his infatuation with you from lust to something more.

It started off seemingly innocent. At first he had arranged someone drive you home at the end of the day. Soon it turned into him driving you himself. He would accompany you and the children on walks, and even help you straighten up when he was present after the children had been put to bed. John had to gone out of his way to get you little gifts, one being fancy case of different spices and herbs once he found out you love to cook; you had stayed well after your relief came and John had to come home to you cooking dinner in his kitchen. It was definitely a sight that he wanted to come home to all the time. So he made an effort to show up at least once a day while you were present Monday through Friday.

Of course the attraction was mutual. Other than the few times you cooked him dinner, you found yourself asking him how his day went. Asking if he needed anything when he was present. You began arriving early, early enough to see him leave in the morning. Sometimes you’d make him lunch for him to take in the mornings. He complimented one of your fragrances once, saying how nice and soft it smelled, and you made sure to wear it nearly every day.

The two craved one another. You shared longing gazes, lingering touches, and finally, John decided to man up and kiss you. The energy between two was magnetic in there and the pool soon and I’ve had you leave in your house in the middle of the night and meeting John at the Garrison. Sometimes the two of you share a drink, other times well…

That was also the two of you found yourselves in the current scandalous position.

Your legs were propped on his shoulders, skirt hiked up to the waist, placing one hand on the desk to your left, the uselessly other grasping at the wall what balance for balance. But then grip John held onto your waist with was more than enough to keep you steady as he continued to devour you.

“Oh for fuck sakes!" you pant, Before leaning her head against the wall, biting your lip to keep from being too loud.

Head beneath you skirt, buried between your thighs, John flattens his tongue and guides his head up, sliding his tongue between your folds.

Your grinding into his mouth when suddenly you feel him envelope your clit in his mouth and sucking.

“Johnnnn” you were a whimpering mess and trying your best to keep from waking the children who should be up from their nap at any moment. You also didn’t want the maids to hear either, not that John particularly gave a fuck. He wouldn’t be satisfied until you came and he was able to lapse up every single drop and your juiced coated his face. You don’t know what it is he was doing with his tongue that made you gasp before as you felt that familiar tightening in your stomach wrap even tighter before a strong releasing washed over you. He lapse at your slick until you finally began to come down.

As you attempted to catch your breath he kissed your inner thighs a few times before removing each leg from his shoulders one at time, making sure you wouldn’t fall.

Soon as he stands up, he leaning down slightly his free hand to your cheek, pressing his lips against yours, you instantly melting into the kiss. As you make out, you feel John trying to sneakily turn you around.

“John we cant- the, the children-“ you stuttered out the reminder as you felt the bulge in his pants pressed into you from behind.

He huffs wrapping an arm around your waste and you lean back into him spent. He placed a few kisses on the side of your neck The other hand gently grabbing your throat.

“You fucking keep playing this game of cat and mouse‘s with me,” the hand on your waist traveled down to cup your mound. “and it’s really fucking doing my head in.”

You gasp when he pinches your clit.

“My patience will expire love, & I can’t promise you when it does, I’ll have mercy on that pretty pussy of yours.”

Kissing a trail from you lips, to jaw, your ear, he then whispered:

“And she is pretty.”



[cdyssey]

if ur still taking prompts, pre-relationship melissa/barbara where barb is getting jealous over mel’s new fling? could be a new teacher who’s a woman as well? thank you! i love how you write them, and your overall voice in your works. thank u for ur brain and ideas and love for these two!!! <3

Augh, thank you for the kind words, Anon!!! ;w; I'm so appreciative.

And, haha, I feel like it's a rite of passage in the Work Wives fandom to pair Melissa with another MILF of choice to make Barbara jealous. <3 My face claim is Alex Kingston. >:)

CW: Grief Mentions, Emotional Infidelity, Suggestive Content

AO3 Link

—

The new art teacher is named Ms. Avery Blackwood, and she just moved from Manhattan to Philly, quietly citing the need to not see her late partner in every sunset.

She mostly worked on commission in the Big Apple, painting murals and large portraits for well-paying clients, but she also did a lot of volunteer work, lending her talents to underfunded schools and women shelters when she could.

But Ava didn’t hire her for this impressive resume—(because that would be bordering on competency, of course)—but rather for the fact that the almost sixty-year old is a Pisces and quote—“damn, that’s kinda hot, not gonna lie”—end quote.

Avery drives a yellow Volkswagen that still has a faded Bernie 2020 sticker on the bumper.

She calls everyone darling and dear and likely has paint splattered across her black overalls at any given time. 

She tucks paintbrushes behind her ear and charmingly doesn’t remember that she’s done so in the first place.

But once she’s been told someone's name and attaches it to a face, she never, ever forgets.

And to top it all off, Avery Blackwood, along with these innumerable endearing qualities, is utterly breathtaking—all curly russet hair and pale hazel eyes, curves in gorgeous places, and an English accent delivered in a low, delicious voice. The kids love her for her whimsy and play. Janine’s already adopted her as her newest middle-aged mother. 

And Melissa.

Melissa is dating her.

Barbara didn’t realize this crucial fact until precisely yesterday when she was sitting in the lounge, trying her hardest not to stare at the empty seat next to her for well over half-an-hour. The younger teachers had gone to Pizza Hut for lunch, which made the absence of the second grade grade teacher all the more pronounced. A vacancy that was a presence. The ghost of a very alive person. Barbara’s daily crossword puzzle went untouched, her afternoon mug of coffee mostly full, as she mentally combed through the most rational possibilities in her head: Melissa catching up on grades, Melissa trying to get the blasted copier in the office to work, Melissa gone to grab a bite to eat all by her lonesome.

All reasonable and distinct options.

Still.

Barbara had glanced at her phone every few minutes to see if she had received a text confirming any of them, providing an explanation, an excuse, an apology.

Nothing.

Nada.

Zilch.

Just a voicemail from Gerald apologizing because sorry, honey, he’d be home late. 

Her husband is always late these days, though. His promotion’s been good for their finances—it even funded their lovely cruise this past summer—but it’s been less conducive to their relationship, disrupting every sturdy habit and rhythm they’ve cultivated together for well over thirty years. He is the indentation on the left side of the bed and the apologetic voicemails he leaves because of it. He is the hasty peck on her cheek before he leaves for work and the untouched coffee mug she instinctively sets next to hers anyway. What he fundamentally isn’t, however, is there, and she’s felt this new distance terribly, like a three-inch incision across her chest. She’s tried to bandage the untenable wound with other things—namely people. 

Namely one person. 

Namely Melissa. 

The two teachers have been spending a lot of time together lately, even out of school—getting their nails done or going to see Saturday matinees or shopping deals on school supplies together at Staples. So she’s gotten used to Melissa being around, has soothed her pathological need for routine because of this immutable fact. 

In the absence of Gerald, there has been Melissa.

A constant presence at her shoulder.

Never more than a text or call or short walk down the hall away.

Until yesterday.

Until Avery Blackwood.

At some point, she walked to the window as a preventative measure against impulsively marching to her friend’s classroom and demanding an explanation, and as she peered through the rain-splattered blinds, she saw them.

Melissa and Avery.

They were walking up the stone steps together, holding hands, and Melissa was laughing at a joke that the other woman had clearly just told, her smile impossible to miss even from a distance.

Even from another room.

Even at the ends of this world.

And Barbara’s stomach had clenched unpleasantly where she stood on the tiles, recoiling at the unexpected sight. And she had mechanically walked back to her seat and tried to sit with this feeling as it rose within her, snarling her carefully composed nervous system into disarray. She didn’t want to admit it, but in her heart of hearts—that forbidden tree she scarcely touches—she understood, even then, that this feeling was jealousy.

And it was irrational.

Ugly.

Perhaps even sinful. 

Thou shalt not covet thy best friend’s girlfriend.

Because Melissa undoubtedly deserves happiness.

And you already have it.

You are a married, Christian woman.

Barbara has known, for sometime now, that Melissa also dates women—mostly when she was younger and before she’d married Joseph—but now that she’s single again, having broken up with Gary the Vending Machine Guy a few months ago, she’s been getting into the swing of regularly dating again: a man named Thornton who had a Tom Selleck mustache, a woman named Selina who’d worked on a local mayoral campaign, a bartender named Layla. 

Barbara has hated all of her friend’s flings for completely valid and totally objective reasons, telling her as much—and in her humble opinion—doing the Lord’s work of helping her to see the proverbial light.

Gary was content to settle, never once trying something new. And while he was nice and funny and good, he took it for granted that Melissa wanted a staid and unchanging lifestyle too.

Thornton, well, he didn’t root for the Eagles, so that was a no-go despite his impressive mustache.

Selina, bless her heart, never stopped talking about politics.

And Layla—mmm, the nerve of her—didn’t care much about politics at all.

But Avery Blackwood, who is impossibly kind and witty and passionate about helping others, is perfect. There is nothing about her to nitpick and everything about her to root for. She’s probably good for Melissa.

Maybe she’s even the one.

And if jealousy was the awful feeling that Barbara had to swallow in that moment, then happiness was the emotion she had to hastily fake, capably simulating it with a porcelain facade of a smile when the two women finally made it into the lounge, still holding hands.

Melissa was self-conscious—as she always was when she was introducing her new partners to Barbara—her cheeks tinged rather pink.

And Barbara had been so perfectly gracious, as she always was when she was meeting Melissa’s partners—arranging her gritted teeth into a bright and pearly smile.

“You two are simply radiant,” she had mused, and it had broken something inside of her to do it.

She could not articulate to herself why.

She could not pray about it to God either.

—

It is Wednesday—the next day—and Barbara is sitting at her desk, savoring her second mug of coffee before the bell rings, when she hears a gentle rapping noise to her left. She looks up and over to see Melissa leaning against her open classroom door, her striking hair a little damp from the rain, spilling over her shoulders in dark, elegant waves.

“Hey, you,” she smirks, huffing a little, her cheeks flushed. Apparently, she’d jogged here, and the overall effect of all this—her wet hair and rosy face, her casual posture, the way the top two buttons of her shirt are carelessly undone, the vee-shaped divot suggesting the ample curves of those smooth, rolling—

—does nothing for Barbara.

Obviously.

“Hey, yourself,” she rasps hoarsely and hastily takes a throat-clearing sip of her coffee. Her damn sinuses. They always get to her at this time of the year. “What’s got you all flustered, Ms. Schemmenti?”

“Nothin’ in particular,” Melissa shakes her head, still grinning. “Just wanted to catch ya before the bell and apologize for yesterday. Sorry that I skipped lunch.”

And went out a date with Avery Blackwood.

And held hands with her. 

Maybe even kissed her.

Barbara imagines Avery’s fingers in her friend’s hair, twisted in those thick, scarlet tresses. She sees Melissa’s arms around the other woman’s curving waist, the space between their bodies negligible. Envisions them trading shades and flavors of red lipstick, can almost hear the sensuous heaving of their mingled breaths. Impatient grunts. Maybe even the occasional moan. And that same awful feeling that had consumed her as she had stood by the window yesterday begins to climb up the rungs of her throat, constricting it, choking what’s left of her resolve to maintain an impeccable front.

And it is initially rather oblique to her—incomprehensible and frankly terrifying—why she should be feeling jealous of the idea of Melissa kissing another woman. It is one thing to be saddened at the idea of losing time with her closest friend; it is another to want to wretch at just the mere thought of the second grade teacher’s lips turning into another art project for one Ms. Avery Blackwood.

But in the end... she supposes she just misses Gerald, his little romantic gestures, his chaste kisses, his once attentive care.

Maybe she’s just lonely.

“Pssh,” she forces herself to smile all the same. “no need to apologize, girlfriend… I was simply happy to see you so happy…”

“Oh, yeah?” Melissa’s own smile brightens, her blush deepening until her face is nearly as red as her hair. Barbara is uncomfortably aware that the other teacher likes receiving her approval, perhaps even hinges some of her self-esteem on it. It’s been this way since her divorce and Joseph wrapped a horrible bow on their marriage by finally cheating on her.

That betrayal had unraveled Melissa Schemmenti.

Had made her feel like she was impossible to love.

And Barbara had seen all of this very clearly, had done everything in her power to put her friend’s broken pieces back together again, laboriously reconstructing her by telling her—almost everyday—that she was so loved and so cared for.

Lord, and how she’d done everything shy of kissing her to prove it.

“Yes,” Barbara nods, softening at these memories, chastising herself for forgetting them in the first place. Her entire project these last five years has been to help Melissa find happiness again… even if it comes at the expense of her own. “I’ve missed seeing you smile like that.”

And it’s true enough.

For the first year after the divorce, Melissa didn’t smile all that much anymore. 

Not like she used to anyway.

And it had killed her inside, had hurt her and hurt her and hurt her, every single God blessed day to see the lifelessness in her eyes, to endure the unchanging monotony of her voice.

She remembers tearing up the first time she heard Melissa belly laugh again—maybe two years after the fact. They’d been at her house, making batches of Christmas cookies for their students, and Barbara had hastily opened a bag of flour, causing the dust to explode all over her face. Melissa had laughed and laughed and laughed some more at what was assuredly a hilarious sight until her own face turned red, the sound warm and vibrant and everything lovely in that dimly-lit kitchen.

And flour all over her cheeks and everything, Barbara had nearly wept, unhinged at that beautiful, nearly forgotten noise. Oh, God, how she’d pulled her friend into a hug then, smearing flour across her face too, kissing her—so very softly—on the crown of that vivid head.

Because Melissa was laughing.

Melissa was happy.

Maybe more accurately still, they were happy together.

“Smile like what?” Melissa tilts her head quizzically, her dark brow pinching somewhere in the middle.

“Like you’re at peace,” she says warmly and beneath her desk, digs her fingernails into the palm of her other hand. Because it stings—more than she ever thought it would—that her friend would finally find contentment in someone who wasn’t her.

Melissa opens her mouth and then abruptly closes it, rendered speechless with visible tenderness and delight, pink feathering her high cheekbones. 

Goodness, she’s radiant, Barbara thinks, continuing to grip her palm, idly clawing at it, grounding herself in the distant ache.

“It’s still early yet, Barb,” the younger woman finally croaks, attempting to be playful but clearly and audibly touched. “Don’t jinx us.”

“Ach, never,” she intones, clumsily disguising a sudden gasp of pain as a laugh.

When she looks down at her hands, she sees that she has nicked herself, has accidentally drawn blood.

—

Avery is the one who proposes it—a joint lesson where Barbara will read The Cat in the Hat to her kids, and Avery will help them with a coloring project shortly afterwards. She comes to Barbara’s classroom after school one day—perhaps a week after the kindergarten teacher first saw her and Melissa from the window—so they can plan the specifics. With her impossible hair tied in a messy bun atop of her head and the loosely rolled sleeves of her oversized shirt speckled with paint and her slightly lined eyes bright with infectious zeal, it’s easy enough to understand why Ava calls her a “fine ass Miss Frizzle.”

And in hindsight, Barbara now knows why Melissa had been the first to agree.

“Genius,” Avery enthuses, lightly brushing her shoulder against Barbara’s own. “I mean, absolutely bloody brilliant—do you really create vocabulary card decks for each book that you’re reading? And for every student? Because if you do, then Melissa was absolutely correct when she called you a god.”

Her cheeks darken at the excessively kind words—both the art teacher’s own but more so Melissa’s purported ones. She never admits it, but she quite likes receiving her friend’s verbal approval too.

“Melissa thinks far too highly of me,” she says diplomatically, though a pleased smile rises to her lips all the same. “But I suppose she probably says the same of me.”

Neither of them are particularly good at loving each other in moderation. Gerald once teased that she loved Melissa more than him, and Barbara had just as jokingly agreed.

“Something to that effect, yes,” Avery laughs, the sound jocular and lovely, though her playfulness somewhat quickly cedes to thoughtfulness. She regards Barbara with a fond expression, tilting her curly head as though she’s trying to figure out how to capture her best angles in paint. “Mel really does think the world of you, you know. Says that you were there for her when she was really going through it with her ex…”

“It’s what any friend would do,” Barbara says quickly, flushing a little, not entirely sure if she’s touched that Melissa would share such an intimate detail about their friendship or irritated that she did.

Partially thinks that sharing the fact takes some of novelty away from it.

Ludicrous, she knows.

Absolutely ridiculous.

She’s well-aware.

(What is awareness to raw emotion, though, intellectualization to the irrationality of her deepest and most detested feelings?)

“What a good friend would do, dear,” Avery corrects firmly, thankfully oblivious to her inner conflict. “It’s in times of crisis when you learn who your true friends are. When my… you know, when my Morgan passed, so many people I thought were in my corner suddenly poofed, vanished, disappeared into the aether. And the ones who stayed—who helped me through the darkness—were often people I least expected. But they were so kind to me. They held my hand while I was in the straits, and they refused to let me go…”

Even though Avery’s gentle expression remains unchanged, Barbara can see the sadness in the forest of her eyes, can hear its plaintive notes in her rich, lilting voice. She cannot begin to fathom ever losing Gerald, even as complicated as things are between them now. She still loves him, of course. He’s the father of her kids and the other person in their shared bed of thirty-four—nearly thirty-five—years. She’d simply be lost without him.

She thinks it would be the death of her to lose Melissa, to never see that bright, red mouth smiling crookedly at her from across the room again. They’ve only known each other for nineteen years, but it feels like forever. And if Gerald is the other person in her bed, then Melissa is the filled seat next to hers in the teacher’s lounge, the hip lightly brushing against her own, the leather-clad shoulder she knows she can always lean upon.

They’re her people—her husband and her work wife—and she’s absolutely selfish; she wouldn’t be able to easily let either of them go.

So she reaches out accordingly, placing a hand on the small of the art teacher’s back in this imagined empathy of total, devastating, and unrecoverable grief.

There would be no Barbara Howard anymore in the aftermath of losing her beloved Ger or her precious Mel.

There would only be an empty husk of the woman she once was.

Her unhallowed and hollowed ghost.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” she offers sincerely—with everything in her—but Avery only shakes her head and smiles at her gratefully. Her innumerable curls shiver at the movement.

“It was a long time ago, and things are much better now,” she returns softly, reaching over and lightly squeezing Barbara's free hand. “I have my necessary distractions—a new home to ruin with all my artistic endeavors, a different job to brilliantly occupy my time, and, well, Melissa now.”

Barbara doesn’t discipline her immediate reaction fast enough, frowning deeply at the inclusion of her friend’s name on this particular list.

“Oh,” Avery says hurriedly, catching the microgesture in an instant, pops of color rising across her smooth cheeks, “I don’t mean to say that I’m using Melissa as a way of coping. I like her very much… she understands loss…”

“She does,” Barbara says, not exactly coldly, but perhaps with a touch of admonition, eyeing the other teacher carefully. She lets her hand fall away, primly templing it with the other. “She absolutely understands loss—perhaps far too well as you might know."

Her nana who practically raised her and so many other relatives besides.

An uncle who was killed.

Joseph, that awful man.

Their acrimonious divorce.

Her estranged sister.

“I do know,” Avery agrees, her pale eyes suddenly bright in the harsh fluorescence of the classroom. “And I didn’t mean to insinuate—I mean, I would never hurt her. Melissa is so dear to me."

“I believe you,” she smiles tightly but truthfully. She thinks the art teacher occasionally wears her emotions on her sleeves—as transparently as the paint that is already there—and she half-admires this vulnerability.

Could never be so candid herself. 

But she thinks it’s rather dangerous too, this capacity for laying one’s soul bare before another. Lesser people would take advantage, and they do everyday.

“Sometimes, though, we hurt people without ever really meaning to,” Barbara continues, taking on the familiar tone of Mrs. Howard.

Kind and didactic.

A little sanctimonious, maybe.

But well-intentioned.

Always.

She just doesn’t want to see Melissa hurt again.

“Even if we care about them—perhaps especially when we do."

The other woman flinches, as though she's been slapped, so Barbara hastily adds, "Not that you would, of course, but it’s something to keep in mind, yes?”

Avery is quiet for a long time after this, all of her usual mirth sieved from her, replaced with a world weariness and an aching, almost tangible sorrow. Barbara doesn’t think she did this to her, though; rather, she intuits that this is the person behind the painted smile.

This is the artist as herself and not as who she presents herself to be.

She feels sorry for her; she stands by her implicit warning all the same.

Melissa will always come first to her—her happiness, her security, her invaluable peace of mind—and she'll do anything to protect those holy treasures.

(She wishes—more than anything and with inordinate guilt—that she could provide them for her.)

"Fair enough," Avery eventually agrees.

Her ensuing smile is exquisite; it does not touch her eyes.

—

That evening, Barbara is curled up in her favorite recliner, watching Family Feud but not really seeing it, a glass of Prosecco idly supported between her fingertips. Gerald’s going to be late again—surprise, surprise—and she put on a whole pot of chicken and dumplings for nothing. 

Oh, sure, he’ll eat a bowl tonight when he gets home around eight or nine, but she’ll have already eaten herself and will likely be in bed to prepare for the school day tomorrow. And if she is, her husband might even sleep in the guest room tonight so as not to disturb her.

He’s polite like that.

But Gerald’s versions of politeness often leave her feeling lonelier than ever before.

So when her phone suddenly rings right at the commercial break, and Melissa’s smiling face washes over her screen—(a picture she’d taken on their most recent movie date)—Barbara is perhaps a little too eager to pick up the phone, pressing it to her ear like a lifeline.

She’s wholly unprepared for the greeting that follows.

“What the hell did you say to Avery?” 

“What?” Barbara splutters, uncomprehending and half-offended and so horribly afraid. She sits up abruptly, accidentally spilling a little wine on one of her favorite silk blouses. “What in Heaven’s name do you mean, Melissa? I didn’t—“

But the younger woman cuts across her viciously. “Things were all fine this morning, but then she goes to your classroom, and not even five minutes later, she’s in mine, tellin’ me we should take things slower!”

Barbara closes her eyes, suddenly and completely nauseous. The art teacher had apparently taken her words to heart, had evaluated them and perhaps found that they struck a meaningful chord. 

Avery is still grieving her partner.

And grief is a monstrous thing.

It colors everything it touches—thoughts, memories, conversations, and deeds.

Relationships too.

(Maybe even relationships especially.)

“Are you saying that she broke up with you?” She rasps, her voice choked, wrung with unspeakable shame.

And something else as well.

But that something else is far more insidious to ever name.

(Hope.)

(Self-righteousness.)

(Glorious, sweeping relief.)

“No, I’m sayin’ that here you go again, messin’ with my relationships,” comes a quick and scathing reply. “You didn’t like Selina or Layla or Thornton. Fuck, you didn’t even like Gary, and you set me up with him in the first place!”

Every word lands across her stomach like the entry of a new knife, gushing blood. It’s true that she’s voiced her reservations about each and every one of Melissa’s most recent partners, but not for any malicious intent. She’s only meant to help her friend, naming the flaws in these various flings that her friend couldn’t see. 

That is altruism from her limited perspective.

Meddling is a form of love.

“You’re being incredibly unfair,” she hisses, angrily wiping at the tears that have started to form at the corners of her eyes. “I’ve only wanted the best for you, Melissa, and you know that.”

And none of those individuals—as kind as they were or funny or sexy or available—were good enough for Melissa Schemmenti.

They were nice people.

That didn’t mean a blessed thing to Barbara.

“Yeah, well, from where I’m standing, you don’t give a rat’s ass about me—you just want me to be as miserable as yourself.”

And, oh, it is this indictment that is the cruelest of them all, and Barbara immediately wants to cry and shudder and scream so loudly that she can be heard from miles upon miles away. Another part of her still wants to fight back, teeth bared and hackles raised, wants to snarl so many unsavory things. 

That her marriage is none of Melissa’s business.

That if she was so uncaring, then who has unfailingly been by her side these past five years, fixing what Joseph Lombardo so callously broke?

That she loves her.

You know that I do, Melissa.

I have loved you far more and for far longer than almost anyone.

Do you not know that?

Have I not proved to you—over and over again—that I care?

“I’m not miserable,” she mewls instead, the words pathetic even to her own ears. She sounds like a petulant child, but her deepest honesty would be overwhelming and too much.

It would sound like a vulgar confession. 

A romantic one.

Her glass violently trembles in her hand. 

“Keep telling yourself that, Barbara," comes an incredulous, broken laugh, "but don’t talk to me about my shit again until you’re finally ready to be honest about your own.”

And with that searing proclamation, Melissa hangs up with a brutal click, leaving Barbara alone again in her big, empty house.

The abrupt silence bruises her.

Wraps its fingers around the pillar of her throat.

She sits in her recliner and simply suffocates—for minutes after that, and then hours, a monolith carved from stone as tears serpentine down the weathered crevices of her face like water over an ancient fountain. She wipes at them only every now and then. Can’t entirely bring herself to care.

Darkness falls through the bay window in the living room, laying across her like a steel cage. She drinks and refills her wine and drinks and refills her wine until the bottle is  empty, and her mind is a buzzing tape recorder, replaying that last conversation in her head until she’s making up replies that she didn’t say.

She is not miserable, Melissa.

She is a married, Christian woman.

She cannot fathom those two ever being one and the same.

[deiliamedlini]

Okay okay, chaos prompts, here it comes:

Skyward Sword Impa encountering Terrako.

You can art or write or whatever 😜

Alrighty! I love SS Impa she's my fav design so THANK YOU for giving me an excuse to google her for inspo lol!

Can also read on Ao3 for ease!

Impa pulled Zelda behind her, protecting the Goddess reborn with her life...

...from this... egg creature.

It looked like it should belong with the other ancient robots in Lanayru Province, those who had rusted into decay years ago. But it was here... without a timeshift stone in sight... beeping at them.

Impa grabbed one of the Sheikah balls from her pocket, one that would explode on contact with anything, what she used to break the Gate of Time so Ghirahim nor Link could follow where she had fled to with Zelda in tow. 

Zelda grabbed Impa's arm now. "No! Don't hurt it! We don't even know what it is! What if it's carrying a message from Link? From my father? From your people?" 

Bwoooooop! 

Impa flinched at the sound and shoved Zelda behind her. "Fine, but you stay back. Let's see what this egg thing is."

The little creature used its robot arms to walk up to her, apart rising from it's head as it squealed in excitement once again. 

Excitement was hardly what Impa felt. 

"I'm not putting this weapon away, you hear me?" she said, addressing the creature. "I will not hesitate to die in defense of my Goddess." 

A trill that sounded almost sad beeped out, and Zelda pouted. "Poor thing! You're scaring it!" 

"Good. It should be scared." 

Alarm noises. Good. 

"Why are you here, creature?"  Impa asked, kneeling down in front of the egg. 

A compartment opened, and a rectangular slate appeared. The egg outstretched it to Impa, and she took it quickly, feeling Zelda's looming presence over her shoulder. 

A screen blinked to life, startling Zelda and Impa. 

A pretty blonde woman was on the screen, blue traveling clothes and a strange accent on her tongue, but the words were familiar enough. 

"Hello. My name is Princess Zelda. If you're watching this, then I have succeeded in sending Terrako, this Guardian, back in time to protect another with my Hylia's Blood in need. Assuming you can hear me, he's found you. If for whatever reason you--" the blond, Princess Zelda turned around on the screen after a crash resounded. "Impa! Keep them under control, please! I'm filming!" 

"Sorry Princess!" a nasally voice replied, and Impa turned to Zelda before looking back at the screen. A tall white haired woman ran by, yelling "Purah, get out of here!" 

"I would never have such long hair for combat..." Impa grumbled at the screen. 

"Good thing that's not you and just someone with your name!" Zelda gested before the Princess appeared back on the screen. 

"Forgive me, we're chaotic here at the moment. We've just defeated the Calamity and figured that sending Terrako to aid you was an appropriate use of his time travelling abilities using Gates of Time." 

"The Gate!" Zelda gasped excitedly.

"Terrako is adept at combat, and has proven a loyal companion. I hope that if you are in need, you will find his assistance invaluable. And thank you for all you're doing to protect Hyrule." 

"Hyrule?" Zelda asked, and Impa shrugged before the screen shut off. 

"So," Impa grumbled, looking at the robot... at Terrako. "You're here to guard Hylia?" 

Terrako beeped excitedly. 

"Hrmm. Your services are appreciated, but we must move fast. You would better serve Link, the best friend of Zelda. He needs all the help he can get, trudging through the mess we leave in our wake. Find him. That is how you will save Zelda." 

An affirmative beep. Ready to go. Terrako turned and little legs carried him away. 

Impa turned to Zelda. "I don't trust it." 

Zelda balked. "And you just sent it to accompany Link?" 

"He can handle it. Besides, he's had you by his side all these years. He could use a companion." 

[thewhumperinwhite]

ATTD: Caught (part 1)

Once again, it has been 85 Years since my last update. Mostly this is because i have been [gestures vaguely to brain meds and wheelchair], but Also its because i keep trying to write in chronological order and Getting Writers Block About It. SO there is a timeskip between the last ATTD piece and this one, for which i apologize. My girl 'City is new, this is a fairly good introduction to Her Whole Vibe but my askbox is also always open if you have questions. Cetus Emani appeared here but we haven't seen him since. I'll link the ATTD masterpost but i think that's kind of all you need for this one in particular. thanks for reading as always ❤

@whumpitywhumpwhumpwhumpwhump @favwhumpstuffmpstuff @whump-cravings <-this is who i tagged on my last update, dm me if you wanna get tagged in the future

ATTD Masterpost

TW for: parental death (past but discussed in detail), grief, guilt, PTSD, trauma-related touch aversion, head trauma, kidnapping.

Felicity Krie had slipped her father’s signet ring off of his finger when she found him, when she was still covered in his killer’s blood. Before it had occurred to her to scream for help, or to do anything but get shakily to her knees beside him. That was all she did, when he was dead and the man who killed him was also dead, the look of shock (she did not hear her father’s last words; his killer’s white-faced gasp, “they didn’t tell me he had—” will live in her head forever) still frozen on his face, only halfway slack. She had knelt; she had reached out a shaky hand and slid her father’s eyes shut; she had slid the ring off of his finger. It didn’t fit around her fingers, of course; even on her thumb it would have been too lose. She’d strung it on a silver chain around her neck ever since.

A chain which was broken, now. Had broken somewhere in Limani, the port town, the biggest town she’d ever been to.

She’d been trying, for the week walking here, not to think of what her father would have said, about the job she’d taken, and how few questions she’d asked before taking it. The company she was currently keeping.

It was suddenly much easier not to think of that, because her mind was immediately blank with panic, now that she’d lost him all over again.

On her knees in the dust in the middle of the street, Felicity pressed her hands over her eyes and sat very still for a moment, because if she thought about the number of people who must have passed this way since she’d noticed its absence, and the odds that none of them would have seen a thick ring of real gold lying unattended in the dirt—if she thought about that, or of how his hand had felt when she’d taken it, already cold and getting colder in her grip, or of the look on her mother’s face when she’d glimpsed it under the collar of Felicity’s shirt before she left—if she thought about any of those things she was going to cry, right here, in the middle of the street, in front of a hundred big-city strangers.

Her eyes were still squeezed shut under her hands when a boy’s voice with just a whisper of an accent said gently, “Excuse me, Miss—is this yours?”

Felicity lowered her hands.

The first thing she saw was her father’s signet ring, sitting in the center of an outstretched pink palm, looking dusty but not otherwise the worse for wear. Then she looked up and felt her mouth drop open of its own accord.

Holding her father’s ring with careful pale fingers was a pretty-faced Crythian boy with high, sharp cheekbones and very blue eyes, and yellow hair cut untidily around his ears, and a long thin scar that ran down his cheek from eyebrow to chin, and—

And it was him. Felicity had been staring at his face in Cetus Emani’s crystal ball for what seemed like hours every day, and knew it practically as well as her own, although seeing it in person was something else entirely.

The Crythian boy’s mouth quirked up a little at one corner, and he said in that same pretty soft voice, “Miss? Are you alright?” and Felicity realized that she was staring and shot to her feet too fast, almost keeling right back over.

This boy—soft pink outstretched hands or no—was a criminal. Cetus Emani had told her as much, and they wouldn’t be paying her to help find him if he weren’t, besides. And he was armed, too; there was a hand-and-a-half sword belted around his waist, though it looked a bit more decorative than practical.

“Yes—y-yes, that’s mine,” Felicity said, brushing dirt from her trousers and trying to surreptitiously wipe tears from her eyes as well. She felt—unaccountably embarrassed at the idea that this boy might have seen her crying; in person it was more obvious that they were of similar age, and he was really very—criminal, she reminded herself sternly. “I thought for sure I’d lost it.”

Felicity opened her hand, and the boy dropped her father’s ring into her palm, lowering the broken chain carefully, so that it wouldn’t knot. She stared at the ring for a moment, bright against her dark palm. Her brain kept snagging on it—it was expensive; anyone would have asked for something in exchange for its return. Let alone a criminal, on the run from Cetus Emani and his mysterious employer. But the boy had simply—given it back to her.

The boy’s smile widened a fraction, as though in good-natured awkwardness; Felicity realized she’d been quiet for too long. Then he put his hand over his heart and bowed, in a way that was—strange, a little too formal. The boy was wearing a green wool tunic that seemed made for a much larger man, and rough spun trousers underneath that were frayed at the hems. It wasn’t a bow for someone wearing clothes that didn’t fit.

“Well,” the boy said, “I am happy to have helped.” And started to turn away.

“Wait!” Felicity nearly shouted, and reached out without thinking to grab hold of his arm.

----

She was a pretty Galdrean girl, perhaps two years younger and two inches shorter. She was wearing no visible weapons, and the hand with which she was now gripping his arm below the shoulder was really very small.

There was no reason her touch should pull all his muscles tight-to-breaking and send ice in ripples down his spine. There was no reason. There was no reason at all.

“I—need your help,” the girl said, but she faltered on the last few syllables. Like she could hear that he wasn’t breathing.

The boy called Will concentrated very hard, and arranged his features into a look of mild concern.

“Why,” he said, very calmly. “What’s the matter, Miss?”

The girl withdrew her hand; Will forced himself to breath in slowly, so she would not hear him gasp. (The effort made him tremble, but not so much that it was visible.) She pressed her hands together, more in nervousness than supplication, and bit her lip.

Will did not take a step back, though she was standing really quite close. It was too soon after she had seen him go tense. He would stay here—and would breathe normally—and would not rub at his arm, which was hot and tingled unpleasantly where her small hand had touched it.

“It’s—my brother,” the girl said, and she did sound distressed, now, though she seemed unable to hold his gaze. “I, um.” She cleared her throat. “He—you see. My brother twisted his ankle, on the way to the shops. I can’t carry him to the healer’s district by myself.” Then she did look up at him, brown eyes very wide. “Will you—help me? Please?”

Will blinked at her.

That, he thought, was a lie. That was—a very bad lie.

“It isn’t far,” the girl went on, and now she was looking at—the center of his chest, transparently to avoid meeting his eyes again. “It’s just, um—I helped him to one of the store fronts, a few streets over. I was—I was hoping I could find someone to help me here, since it’s busier, that’s when I dropped my—”

She couldn’t be robbing him, surely, he thought. The magician’s clothes were far too large, but it was surely obvious he was carrying nothing of value, except perhaps the sword itself. And—she was so bad at this; her voice was wavering, now, but in a way that sounded less like worry for an imaginary injured sibling, and more like miserable embarrassment. It was as though she had never told a lie before in her life, and wasn’t enjoying doing so now.

“Alright,” Will said, over the rest of her babbling explanation.

The girl pulled up short, in apparent astonishment. Will smiled at her.

“Alright,” he said again. “Which way?”

----

“How old is your brother?” the boy asked, a few steps further toward the inn Emani had rented as their base of operations. It didn’t sound like a test, exactly. But it was hard to tell.

“He’s seen ten summers,” she answered, trying very hard to keep her voice light. “You know boys his age. Always climbing things they shouldn’t be.” Teron wasn’t much of a climber, actually Felicity herself had always been the one more likely to get herself into that kind of trouble. He was also half a kingdom away, of course, and thinking of him was not helping now, and she should have told a different lie, should have found some magic first lie that didn’t multiply into a thousand other lies like a pair of rabbits.

“Where are your parents?” the boy asked, light and gentle, like a man would use on a frightened horse, and Felicity tripped over a loose stone in the road, thinking for once not of her dead father but of her mother, left behind, her mother’s shadowed eyes and brave smile, what her mother would think—

“They’re gone,” Felicity said, and it came out too hard; the boy blinked his pale eyes at her, his sunburnt mouth and brow still soft but his gaze suddenly so piercing that felt it as a prickle on her skin.

“I’m sorry,” the boy said, and his voice had not changed at all; it mismatched his eyes in a way that was nearly alien, too gentle for his cut-gem eyes. “You are very young to be on your own.”

He could be no more than a year Felicity’s senior, if that—perhaps eighteen summers, surely no older. She opened her mouth to tell him that, and at that moment he crossed the threshold of the inn and Cetus Emani raised from a crouch beside the door, all seven feet of him; the boy had a moment to register the incomprehensible shape in the doorway, and then Emani brought his fist down on the boy’s head and the boy fell like a stone.

That, after everything, was far too much.

“What is wrong with you?” Felicity shrilled. Every second since she’d reached for her father’s ring and found it missing had wound her neck and shoulders tighter, and it all came out now in her voice, twisting it into a shriek.

Emani, busy with hauling the boy properly into the inn, ignored her. Harrow, now visible in the dim light beyond, skirted Emani and the boy’s limp body with averted eyes to yank Felicity into the inn after them, and had the actual nerve to raise his other hand to his mouth in a panicked shushing gesture. Felicity shook him off, harder than she needed to.

“I had him!” she yelled. The inn was nearly empty, as if Emani’s limitless budget had extended to the exclusive use of the whole building. The real bounty hunter—Criel—was seated at the untended bar, watching Felicity with bright-eyed interest. None of that mattered; she could not have lowered her voice even if the inn had been bustling with old ladies. “I had him, he was coming, you had no call to—to—”

“You have done a small part of your job,” Emani said in his deep, unmoving voice, not looking up at her. “Let me do mine.”

“You had no call—” Emani bent to fiddle with the boy’s belt and Felicity nearly slapped his hands away. “Now what are you doing?”

“Rest assured, he will wake,” Emani said, tossing the boy’s sword belt aside, where clattered across the dirt floor to stop at Felicity’s feet. Then Emani lifted the boy by the armpits and plopped him into one of the inn’s wood-and-grass chairs. The boy’s head lolled back like a doll’s. Emani bent to secure the boy’s hands to the back of the chair with a length of rope. “No doubt he does wake he will have questions for you, girl,” Emani said, without looking up at Felicity.

Emani said it in his usual flat, disinterested tone, but it sank in Felicity’s stomach like lead. Blood dripped in a thin line from the boy’s hairline towards his eyes, which were moving visibly under the lids, as though he were dreaming.

“You didn’t have to hit him,” Felicity said again; it seemed like someone ought to. “He was coming in peacefully. We could have talked to him.”

Emani did look up at her then, raising an eyebrow at her over the boy’s head. “Could we,” he said, sounding halfway amused. “You must have told him an excellent lie, that he would have remained peaceful upon seeing all of us here, and the exits barred.”

Felicity felt a shamed flush heat her face—shamed to be so poor at this job; shamed to have taken it in the first place. Emani was right, of course, except that all of it was wrong.

“You didn’t have to hit him,” she said again. Emani chuckled to himself, and yanked the ropes tighter.

[fanficwriter284]

What would if something like a angst Charles s Dad finds Tiffany perfect for their family but instead of for Charles he wants her for the other sibling (I forget the name) and idk for the rest I just love drama

(Oh btw I'm the same person as the one who writes more childhood chiffany angst pls) lol

OOo!!! This is gonna be interesting!!! And I love your requests!!!!! I love when you send them in! Thank you for asking them!!! Some Family Drama I see...hee hee....Here's one for the Brother AU!

Lukas Ray, the dominate male of the Ray family. To be followed by his two sons. Charles Lee Ray the oldest and Carolus Klaus Ray the younger of the set of twin boys. They were identical in appearance both bearing the resemblance of their father. However, Charles was deemed irrelevant to the family and their name. Where he failed his brother excelled. Causing favoritism within Lukas Ray. Carolus was more accustomed to the new environment of the US speaking in a proper manner with an American accent. Charles was capable of speaking English fluently, but his accent remained. His father felt that this would be a setback for the family. When he discovered Tiffany Valentine, he felt she would suit his son, Carolus, despite her being Chucky's best friend.

"Why don't you invite the girl over?"

"I----I don't know.....What do you think Charles?"

"I----I" He struggled to speak as the disapproving glare of his father locked onto him.

"I'll ask her"

"Atta boy"

Dinner

Tiffany enjoyed the thought of being invited to the Ray home. It would allow her to get to know the rest of Chucky's family better. She had known some about of his twin, and the horrors of his father. Chucky and Tiffany walked to the Ray home together and cracked open the door. When the father and son were waiting.

"Nice to see you again Tiffany"

"Nice to see you too......Mr. Ray"

"Please sit"

Chucky made his way to his seat, it being next to Tiffany but was pulled back by his father.

"No, you're sitting with me........where I can keep an eye on you"

Chucky gave his father a pleading look but was forced to sit by him. Watching Tiffany and his twin sit together. The two felt odd with them sitting next to each other. They really didn't know each other, the only link they shared was Chucky. Carolus knew that his brother had a crush on the girl next to him and felt wrong sitting next to her instead of him, and he knew Chucky wasn't fond of the sight.

"May I be excused?"

"Why?"

"I----uh---------I need to go do an assignment that's due tomorrow"

"Go ahead......Tiffany do you care to go help him.....I hear all three of you are in the same class"

Before Tiffany could utter a response, Carolus spoke.

"Actually, I need Charles's help....can he come help me?"

Lukas Ray squinted his eyes but nodded his head allowing Chucky to go. Tiffany followed after them. Carolus could have sworn he saw a vein pulse from the side of his father's head when Chucky and Tiffany's hands touched.

[lesbian-in-leather]

They aren’t soft and Memento Mori for the WIPs asks?

((Here is a link to the fic title list))

They Aren't Soft

I think I've mentioned this one a few times on here, but this is the singular eslaf fic I've written! (well, started writing) It's going to be 13 chapters, and follows them from Olaf approaching Esmé just before TEE until he leaves her to die in TPP, showing various moments of the two of them. It's basically an excuse for me to flesh out their dynamic, because I simultaneously do think they actually cared about each other and also think they cannot stand each other for extended periods of time so this was mainly just a fun way to work out how their relationship devolved over the course of the series. So far I've written the first five chapters, plus random other snippets and significant portions of chapter six and seven so that's fun

Memento Mori

This one is the epitome of 'hurt no comfort' it's literally just sad. Each chapter was going to be someone reacting to the death of a member of the sugar bowl gen, in the form of a document collected by Bea II with a total of twenty one chapters (including an introductory and concluding chapter that didn't involve a death). Why did I start this? I don't know. I wrote quite a bit of it, but it was a while ago so if the quality is questionable... don't blame present-me lmao

They Aren't Soft

“Hello, pretty lady. Please, I am Gunther, please, wealthy and stylish foreign-” he had an entire speech prepared – in the days leading up to this little confrontation (that, ideally, wouldn’t turn into one) he’d worked out exactly how he would convince her to hire him as the auctioneer for her upcoming event so he could easily smuggle the twins out of the city. Unfortunately, Esmé Gigi Geniveve Squalor was never one to follow anyone’s plan but her own – and before he could even finish the introduction of his carefully crafted, two-act speech (three, if you included the backstory), she’d somehow gotten across the obscenely large room and pulled him back against her with a knife to his throat. He hadn’t even had chance to fully turn around and greet her.

“I’m going to give you thirty seconds to tell me what the hell you’re doing in here.”

“I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, please, I-”

“Hands up.” Her tone brokered no argument, and he was glad she couldn’t see the look of annoyance that briefly crossed his features as held up his hands, dropping his cane and trying to stop himself from sighing outwardly as he was forced to leave the concealed knife he’d been reaching for untouched in his pocket. “Now give me one good reason not to slit your throat, other than the fact that your blood would ruin my incredibly In carpet.”

That had, in fact, been his go-to reason. Shit.

“As I was saying, please, I am-”

“I know exactly who you are, you fucking bastard.” He didn’t need to see her to know she was baring her teeth – and he was rapidly starting to question his decision making skills as he was vividly reminded of the more volatile aspects to her personality that he’d somehow managed to forget. Or deliberately block out. “Now what the fuck do you think you’re doing in my penthouse?” Ah. Clearly his acting was too convincing, and she’d mistaken him for someone else. He shifted back away from the knife – shifted, not squirmed – in an attempt to prevent her from getting bored and just killing him for the hell of it, but she only held him more firmly against her, cold metal pressing into delicate skin.

There was only one thing for it. He dropped the accent, hoping the charming grin he was giving her made its way into his voice. “Esmé, it’s me! Olaf!” she paused. She didn’t kill him, which was always a plus, but she also didn’t lower the knife. He heard her draw a slow breath through her nose before letting it out in a sharp huff, which was rarely a good sign. It usually meant she was at the very least thinking about killing him.

Before he had time to really process the knife’s absence, there was a sharp kick to the back of his leg, and he slammed down to his knees on the allegedly In carpet. Apparently, being fashionable had absolutely no correlation to being comfortable, and he felt the sting of the impact ricochet through his legs. Her fingers were suddenly in his hair, painfully yanking his head back as she growled “Stay down,” in his ear, and he was trying desperately to remember if she’d always had this effect on him, or if it was true that absence really does make the heart grow fonder. Or other body parts, at least.

“Esmé, I-”

“I know who you are. Do you not remember the last time we saw each other?”

He frowned. They hadn’t parted on bad terms, as far as he could recall. They’d been fucking without dating – which usually ended up better than their numerous attempts at an actual relationship – and then… Shit. Despite their usually explosive breakups, it actually hadn’t gone badly the last time they’d seen each other, not at all. In fact, they’d parted on excellent terms, and all for one very simple reason.

He’d never actually gotten around to ending things with her.

He’d meant to. But then he’d seen her, and form-fitting, low-cut dresses were apparently In, and they’d gotten… side-tracked. And he knew it’d only be worse if he sprung it on her after sex (he’d learned that lesson the hard way, and it had cost him a new and rather expensive car), so he figured he’d just call her in a few days, and then… he’d promptly forgotten all about it, and now he was in her penthouse a not-insignificant amount of time later and entirely unprepared for how pissed off she was going to be with him.

He was absolutely, completely, and totally fucked.

Memento Mori

“No rest for the wicked.” She muttered to no one in particular as she returned to her room to get dressed, and then downstairs to make herself some bitter wormwood tea and retrieve the paper.

More Romantic authors than myself would suggest that Beatrice’s sleeplessness was due to the news she would receive in that paper. That some primal part of her was aware of the misfortune that had befallen her friend in another part of the world. I would not bore you with such notions, so instead present an ulterior hypothesis – sometimes, as I’m sure you know, we simply have a bad feeling about something, or someone. A baker might have a bad feeling about a certain loaf of bread, and check it only to find that a rat has been nibbling away undetected, and the loaf can no longer be sold. A pilot might have a bad feeling about a certain flight they are to take, and insist everything is double checked on the plane before take-off – perhaps they will find a faulty engine, or suspicious stowaway, but they would never truly know if the flight would have been affected. A particularly fraudulent fortune teller might have a bad feeling when she sees an old, black car pull up at her carnival, but she can do nothing and so tells no one, resulting in a terrible fire and her own death at the hands (or, more accurately, claws and teeth) of a pack of hungry lions. All of these could be seen to be either magic or science – perhaps the baker heard squeaking in the night, or noticed a trail of crumbs that had not been there before. Perhaps the pilot had a sixth sense, or perhaps they used the five that everyone possesses to see the corner of a mysterious person’s coat caught in the toilet door, or heard an odd clunk when they seated themselves in the cockpit. The fortune teller would surely ascribe her feeling to the ‘gift’ many such people claim to have, but it would be far more logical to assume that, since she had no such talent, her misgivings came from her previous association with the owner of that particular black car, and the fact that he was well known as an arsonist, murderer, liar, thief, and cheat at cards.

In the care of Beatrice Baudelaire on this particular autumn morning, I would suggest that mere coincidence or a perhaps subconscious recognition of foreboding patterns are far more likely explanations for her insomnia. But, then again, I have been wrong before.

She sat at her kitchen table and took a sip of her tea as she skimmed the mindless words of the Daily Punctilio, pencil at the ready to complete any crossword or puzzle they might have deigned to include; despite the inaccuracies she usually noticed whenever she attempted to do so. I wish that I could tell her to put the paper down, to read something else, or at least stop at an earlier page – if I could, the misfortune that would befall her and her three currently non-existent, but soon-to-be-orphaned children may not have come to pass at all. Perhaps, if she had never believed what she came to believe, history would have turned out differently. There is no way to know for certain, and there is also no use in speculating, because the fact of the matter is that no matter how much we might wish to, no one can change the past. We can only learn from it, and remember.

Tired eyes caught on a familiar name, and she paused, carefully placing her cup down on its saucer and sitting up straighter to check that she had read the page correctly. Though, usually, it is a wonderful thing to see the name of one’s friend in the newspaper, for Beatrice on this autumn morning, it was a truly terrible thing indeed. Not because she was one of those awful people who wishes to be the most successful out of all her friends – on the contrary, she had often championed the ambitions and achievements of the people she associated with – but on this particular morning, the name itself was rather overshadowed by the page on which she found it. With three words, she felt as if her world was folding in on itself, collapsing around her as she read the title, the word settling itself within her like a lead weight.

Obituaries.

The page began to blur, but even that could not spare her from reading the name again, even as the largely inaccurate paragraph following it became illegible.

Lemony Snicket. Various sections of the paper became marred as she stared at it, reading the two words again and again as little droplets of her grief blurred various inky words together. Her mind turned the name of her ex-fiancé over and over, as if it couldn’t quite comprehend the terrible, looming reality that the paper had presented. She took a deep, wavering breath, and reached for her phone with a trembling hand. As she dialled the familiar number, she was dimly aware that it was a good thing the phone had been within arm’s reach, because she wasn’t certain she would have been able to stand.

[dutchx11]

The Black Sparrows / Tiskie Tapes

___________________________________________________________

(Bold and underlined  denote link)

Background:

From South London, Dan Hunt & Tom (Hubby-G) Hubbard formed The Black Sparrows prior to 2014. They had worked together in a previous band, Cheese on Toast Mystery.  According to Last.fm.com, “The Black Sparrows are a band formed by two Bukowski obsessed young men who wanted an excuse to drink and shout in public.”  The boys of BS (Dan Hunt (vocals, guitar), Tom (Hubby-G) Hubbard (guitar), Rob (bass), & Kai (drums)) revisit the essence of the ‘ye ole pub guitar band.’  Love that accent! Having that British charm, this band appeals to the mods (60’s) & punks (70’s) - (http://www.mrteethreviews.com/the-black-sparrows-tiskie-tapes/).  “They are self-proclaimed ‘punk ‘n’ roll’ lads who distill the spirits of The Libertines and Suede  (http://stereoembersmagazine.com/jen-dans-top-20-songs-of-2015/).

Album Overview:

Their debut album (and as of this writing, only) was released in 2015 on Cariad Records (https://www.facebook.com/CariadRecords/).  By the way, the title references a particular brand of Polish lager.

Right from the first riff, it sounds very British, even though a bit reminiscent of the Pixies (which is concerning).  Regardless of the after punk feel, there is a distinct wailing rock guitar.  With catchy, short tunes (longest song, merely 3:41) and rumbling bass, you beep-bop along with a little harder jam.  How could you not love an album with songs about lost loves, pubs and cheap drugs? 

Tracks of note: 

Pretty Songs – And we’re off!!  With a quick straight ahead lunge, we’re pulled by the train with abrupt jarring stops in the action.  It makes you want to jump from the get go, “No, I’m not sending you flowers afterwards.” Punk-like screeching (channeling Johnny Rotten?) accompanies the rocking guitars. Please, I don’t want no girlfriend! Remember: “you come up to me.” This noise let’s me go rock n roll, because of the catchy hook from the fill section.

Dirty Lips – Please don’t say, “Blister In The Sun!” a-la Violent Femmes, to the hinting guitar.  But, the bass rhythm takes the song where it needs to go.  I can feel the grime between my toes stuffed inside my docs.

Libido sings this one & doesn’t give a damn who gets hurt!  I’m feeling the splash of sweat and smut.  And, don’t forget that smell of musky satisfaction.  I will still see all of you after the show!  You can’t help but feel the beat of my…pulse, “I wanna suck your dirty lips!”  Nice break & “ho, ho..ho” builds the tension (like the one I’m feeling). 

Stay Golden – Remember “ye good olde days of yore.”  I don’t wanna grow up – I just wanna keep doing the same now & forever. Playful guitar jamming gives us a lighter hearted tone.  I wouldn’t change a thing – even the fuck ups because they make the best stories/memories!  Everybody jump and have a good time, because it’s a great night out with the boys.  This is a punk version of “The Boys Are Back In Town,” where you don’t realize the significance of the moment until you’re looking back.

Queens Head – I just want to know where this place is where pints flow without care of tomorrow. My mates and I begin the night of hunting here to whet our whistles.  Think of a Hardy’s malt house and the communal cup of some fermented bevy (Far From The Madding Crowd) - smooth and room temp suds and all.  For me, it would have been something like The Flying Saucer.

Hancock – This should have been on a John Hughes flick, like Breakfast Club when they are dancing after taking a hit.  Or, maybe, on any montage scene of kids doing mischief and causing a ruckus (Can you describe "the Ruckus?").I can’t help but feel that this song is almost a reminiscing type of tune.

Best time to listen: if you can remember to put this CD on while you and your crew are doing your pub-crawl. 

Audience: From Freshonthenet.co.uk, ”This record will be a must have for the slightly insane.”  Enough said.

Why selected: I love the raw verve that punches right from the start and doesn’t stop until the CD ends or you throw up!  It’s all about drinking and sinning.  The spin cycle sucks you in & spits you out!